


Seven Days in April

by inadaze22



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Breaking Up & Making Up, Coworkers - Freeform, Department of Mysteries, Divorce, Draco is sick of it, Established Relationship, F/M, Ginny/Blaise background, Honesty, Jealous Draco Malfoy, Jumping to Conclusions, Lack of Communication, Miscommunication, No cheating, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Realizing the errors in oneself, Secret Marriage, Secret Relationship, Smoking Hermione, Starting Over, Strong Language, The Ministry of Magic - Freeform, When intelligent people are stupid, Workaholic, harry/pansy background, stubborn hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 04:22:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20383597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inadaze22/pseuds/inadaze22
Summary: They were still the same people with the same problems on either side of a bathroom door.





	1. April 2nd

_And the sad thing is_   
_There's no end to this_   
_Your tears are like the rain that beats the rain_   
_And I wake at dawn_   
_To find you gone_   
_Don't even have strength to call you name_   
**Two Solitudes - Level 42**

_ **April 2nd** _

The sound of the howling wind, the distant rustling trees, and the groaning and creaking of weak branches seemed to echo into the silence of night.

This is it, Hermione thought as she watched the winds torment the branches of her English oak tree from the upstairs windowsill. This was the night that the ancient tree would finally succumb to the forces of nature and blow over completely.

Hermione slowly opened the window and inhaled, letting the cool wind carry the fresh scent of leaves and distant rain into her room. It was cold; colder than she'd expected, but the heavy-hearted woman ignored the chill and reached for the copy of War And Peace that her father had hollowed out in his boyhood and given to her as a place to keep her treasures safe while she was away. It had been filled with all sorts of keepsakes while she had been at Hogwarts, but now it contained just three things: a half-empty pack of fags, a lighter, and a clean glass ashtray.

The only thing that was heard next was the sound of her opening the cardboard box, the scraping of her thumb on the lighter, and the first deep inhale of smoke.

She really hated smoking.

It was such a disgusting habit, but Hermione was restless and angry, and in dire need of a smoke. She usually wasn't weak enough to give in to such senseless urges, but didn't have the energy to fight it tonight. And since murder was stillillegal everywhere, she settled for option B: smoking. Hermione took another deep drag and moved the ashtray from where it had been balanced on her leg to beside her on the windowsill.

Then, she went back to staring out the window.

Funny enough, she hadn't picked up the habit until after she married Draco Malfoy, and he still was her sole reason for lighting up.

Hermione saw a shadow of something move in the darkness. Thinking it was her husband, she started to breathe a sigh of relief … until she realised it was nothing. She frowned. She was all alone, and this was not how she'd imagined spending her second wedding anniversary.

The fight had started hours ago under the old oak tree, moved to the front porch, and ended in the foyer. Hermione couldn't remember what it had been about, but knew that it was on the long list of reasons why they fought: his jealousy issues, her career, their marriage … just to name a few. All she really knew was that it was bad enough to send her retreating to this window.

Initially, when Draco had slammed the door behind him, Hermione watched in hopes that he'd turn around and chase her the way most men would—the way most men should. But he'd kept walking away. But now she was just staring out the window because looking around their home would only make the angry tears start up again. It was so much easier to watch something else buckle under the force of nature.

Draco wasn't coming home.

More than that, she hated that she knew he wasn't coming home. He never came home after fights. He always either stayed at the Manor or—when his parents were in town—in a guest room in the Leaky Cauldron. Home, she figured, was the last place that he wanted to be.

Or, rather, she was the last person he wanted to be around.

It wasn't that they'd yelled, that she'd screamed, or that he'd slammed the door when he left. They had done all of that more times than she could count. It was that their yelling had seemed final, her screaming had been painful, and the slamming of that door had meant that it was over.

Hermione hadn't stood up since.

She'd been able to stand while she screamed at him, while he stood in front of her with that look of angry bewilderment on his face, but not anymore. Draco should've known why they were fighting. He should've understood. And, really, he should've expected it. The words and setting were different, but the argument was still the same.

Nothing had changed.

And nothing was going to change, either. Not unless he changed.

Hermione heaved the ninth sigh of the hour, tapped the ashes into the ashtray, and glared out the window, watching as the harsh wind pushed the English oak dangerously to the left.

Any time now.

It was sadistic, and she knew it, but Hermione was just waiting to hear the final snap—the one that preceded a loud boom that would shake her house and her world. And as she sat there, she came to the crippling understanding that this tree was her marriage—half dead and in dire need of being put out of its misery. And tears welled in her eyes because, truthfully, it wasn't what she wanted.

Hermione took another deep drag of her cigarette to calm herself down.

At any rate, it didn't matter anymore, did it?

Draco was gone and he wasn't coming back and she … well, she was just pissed off. It hadn't occurred to her until that very moment just how livid she actually was. Hermione didn't understand her emotions. This wasn't the first time that Draco had walked out. He'd made something of a habit out of it since the routine fighting had started last November when he started talking rubbish about being tired of keeping their marriage a secret.

She frowned at the thought.

Over and over, he'd declared that he was tired and walked out, but not once did he ever bother to ask her how she felt about the consequences of their secret marriage. But Hermione didn't hate that part. What she actually hated was how she always ended up as the maid with the cleaning charms and the vacuum, sucking up the shards of a relationship that was barely surviving against all odds. And it hurt. She'd be lying if she said that it didn't.

It hurt more that Draco had never bothered to consider that she, too, might be tired.

Because she was.

This marriage wasn't unfolding how she'd thought it would. They were supposed to be happy right? Happy like they had been when they'd dated. Happy like they had been in the first few months of their marriage. They had their priorities, wanted the same things, and were happy with the way their lives were going. But Draco's change of heart had changed everything, causing the tension between them to progressively mount. She wasn't quite sure how or when or even why the change of heart had occurred, but it had proclaimed to her loud and clear that it wasn't just his priorities that had changed….

He had changed.

Hermione grimaced.

She hated when Draco yelled, but hated it more when he was silent. She hated when he slammed doors and hated when he looked at her as if she were the irrational one. She hated his possessiveness and jealousy, his apathy and stubbornness, and as she stared out the window, Hermione wasn't sure whether she just really hated all his traits, or whether she just really hated him.

The new him.

Someone had told her that a marriage was over whenever love and hate couldn't be distinguished or separated; whenever love didn't overshadow or overpower hate. And Hermione crushed her cigarette butt in the ashtray, clenched her fists together, and tried to remind herself of exactly why she'd fallen in love with Draco in the first place.

Because, despite it all, she did love him.

It could have been his eyes, his charm, and his infinite patience—patience that had definitely come with age and maturity. It could have been the way his hair framed his face or the way his eyes brightened whenever he flashed her a rare smile. Perhaps it was the way he looked when he was asleep or that he actually listened to her when she spoke. Or maybe it was the way they had connected on a mental level before they'd connected physically. It could have been his ambition or the way he looked at her. Gods. It was a look that made it possible for Hermione to trick herself into believing that there was something in the world about which he actually cared deeply … and maybe it was her.

But she wasn't so sure about that anymore.

Hermione opened her eyes and lit another cigarette, sighing. Gods, she was tired.

Tired of dealing with him and yelling at him. Oh, and she was definitely tired of being on the other end of every door that he slammed when he was angry. Hermione was tired of his temper and his constant choice of flight over fight. She was tired of Draco always pointing the finger at her when he needed to point the finger at himself. But mostly, Hermione was tired because she never got to play the one that got angry. She never got to slam the door.

Of course, if ever given the opportunity, she wasn't sure if she could … not if his face was on the other side. Either way, it didn't matter. She'd been smoking and staring out the window long enough to thoroughly convince herself that she'd never get the chance to slam the door in his face because he wouldn't be returning.

Whether she liked it or not, whether she wanted it or not, it was over.

And she was angry that he was cowardly enough to end it without a proper fight.

Hermione finally turned away from the window and took another long drag of her fag, feeling the tension in her shoulders finally start to ebb … slightly. She just might enjoy the fact that she wasn't going to have to watch Draco slam another door again … oh, and she wasn't going to have to watch him walk away, either.

But when she heard the front door open and heard the sound of his feet on the stairs, Hermione knew that she'd relaxed too soon. She thought about crushing her second cigarette, but thought, "why?" and took another drag. Closing her eyes, she listened to his breathing in the silence for the five minutes it took for him to summon enough nerve to actually speak to her.

"I hate it when you smoke in the house."

Hermione's frown deepened and she tapped her cigarette on the side of the ashtray. "Yeah? Well, I hate it when you slam the door."

"Leave it to you to compare smoking to slamming doors. They're completely unrelated."

She brought the fag back to her lips and inhaled.

"And now you're ignoring me. Wonderful." Draco drawled sarcastically.

She blew her smoke out the window.

"What am I supposed to say?" Hermione looked at Draco for the first time with tired eyes and found equally tired eyes staring back. His face was a bit pink and that only meant one thing.

He'd been drinking.

She cursed to herself.

"I don't know," Hermione sighed. It was her eleventh one. "Anything. Nothing. You could try and throw in some everything too, while you're at it." She brought the cigarette to her lips again, but stopped. Her mouth tasted terrible and smoking wasn't making her feel better.

It was time to stop.

After she crushed her cigarette, Hermione heard him sigh behind her, and for the first time there was a bit of satisfaction at the fact that she could cause a reaction in him that didn't involve slamming doors and screams that were louder than the silence they sat in most of the time.

"Are you finished being difficult?"

She glared at him, hotly, "Oh, so now I'm being difficult? Forgive me if I'm wrong, but weren't you the one who left?"

"I came back, didn't I?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes." Thanks to the alcohol.

"Isn't that what you wanted? For me to come back?"

Her voice was sharper than the glass of the window she so badly wanted to push him through. "What I want is for you to stop leaving in the first place."

"I'm not going to apologise for that."

"Of course not," she replied dryly. "You never apologise for anything."

"If you're going to be unreasonable—"

"Unreasonable?" Hermione's voice raised half an octave. "I've been nothing but reasonable. I only said that you should—"

"What? Stay? So you can yell more? I—"

"You could do something other than stand there and—"

"I could, but you shutting up long enough to let me is an entirely different story." At the hurt and angry look on her face, Draco pursed his lips, straightened his shoulders, and sighed. His second one of the night. "The reason why I left is the same reason why you've been sitting in front of this window, smoking. I needed to calm down. I needed to think."

That was not why she sat in this particular windowsill.

"I was tired."

She ignored the fact that this was the most that he'd said to her outside of yelling in over a month because, really, it didn't matter. "And I'm not?" Hermione sighed. She wasn't angry anymore. She wasn't even tired. She was just one big ball of exasperation. "I'm going to take a bath." Hermione stood to her feet and walked past him towards the bathroom. She remembered something, paused, and tossed back a dry, "Happy anniversary," and kept walking.

She was just about to round the corner when she heard Draco sigh.

His third to her thirteenth.

Technically, it meant that he needed to sigh ten more times to catch up with her. It also meant that Draco cared four and one-thirds less than she did. And Hermione was ashamed and angry that their marriage had dissolved into nothing more than petty subtraction and uneven division.

When she shut the bathroom door behind her and started her bath, Hermione felt so detached, so divided, she realised that she had just about forgotten what things were like when they were whole.

* * *

After adding a little sea salt and a few drops of lavender oil, Hermione shed her clothes and put one foot in to test the waters. The bath water was warm and she quickly found herself sinking into the tub.

This was more like it. Letting out a blissful sigh, the witch held her breath and completely submerged herself into the water. She came up a few seconds later, ran her hands over her wet face, grabbed the soap and loofah, and started bathing. The soothing ritual of washing herself made Hermione briefly forget why she was so desperately in need of something relaxing.

But it was over too fast.

Oddly enough, it wasn't a knock on the door that had brought her back to reality; it was him pacing outside the door.

That was another thing she hated.

Draco always paced. The reasons why were numerous, but he did it mostly out of frustration. Back and forth, back and forth … Hermione unconsciously started grinding her teeth together. It drove her insane.

"What do you want, Draco?"

The footsteps stopped.

Hermione rolled her eyes and changed the question. "Scratch that. Don't even bother to answer that. In all honesty, I don't want to know. So, unless you're knocking to tell me that the old oak tree has finally fallen or the house is burning down, I—"

And that was when he blurted out, "I still think that we should go public."

Hermione's head jerked hard in the direction of the door and then her shoulders sagged wearily. Not this again. She was so tired of having this argument with him. It was the never-ending fight. Though she desperately wanted to blame his statement on the amount of alcohol he had likely consumed, Draco didn't just blurt things out. Not even when he was pissed. He was a thinker. He sat and pondered; considered and weighed out his options. And he was never hasty. Still, knowing all that didn't stop her from saying, "Now I know you're pissed."

For two complete minutes they sat in near silence. His anger was practically seeping through the cracks of the door. All Hermione could do was rinse the soap from her body and wait for him to snap.

It didn't take long. Only seconds.

Draco's voice was incredibly tight when he said, "I had one sodding Firewhisky, Hermione. I hardly think—"

"If one drink makes you lose the ability to be rational, then I'd prefer it if you didn't drink at all."

"As you well know, this isn't something that just popped into my head today. I've been thinking about it for a while. Months. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't patronise me. It's—"

"Completely absurd, that's what it is!" Hermione exclaimed. "How many times do we have to fight about this for you to see reason? This. Is. Not. A. Good. Idea. Gods, Draco! What is it going to change? What is going public going to do?"

"Oh, I don't know, save our marriage," he spat back.

"Save it?" Hermione scoffed, "All it's going to do is bugger it up even more!"

"I can't imagine how things could be worse than what they are now," Draco retorted angrily. When she said nothing, he continued, "All I know is that I'm sick of living like this. I hate that we're constricted to this house. I hate—"

"We knew what we were getting into from the start, Draco! We saw what happened when Harry and Pansy started dating, we saw what they went through when Pansy announced her pregnancy a few months later, and we saw what they went through when they got married. We knew what would happen if the media and people at work found out that we were together, and—" He made a noise of objection, but she cut him off. "And we agreed that keeping us a secret was the best way to go, for our careers, privacy, and your parents. We both had our reasons—"

"And reasons change!" Draco shouted over her.

"Mine haven't!" she fired back, "You've just lost sight of everything!"

"No, I'm not the one who's lost sight, Hermione. You have!" Draco shouted. "Keeping our marriage a secret was never about my parents. They already know we're together—"

"And they hate it, you—"

"They don't like any of the decisions I've made, Hermione, but they live with it!" he shouted, "They always have!"

"You—"

"And you know what? It stopped being about Potter, Pansy, and the fucking media a long time ago, too. But it has never stopped being about you, your career, and what you want."

"That's not fair, Draco, and you know it. Before you lost your mind and started this campaign to make us go public, you—"

"I can't 'make' you do any—"

She raised her voice over his, "You were all about sacrificing a public relationship for your career, even after we got married. You can't deny that, Draco." And when he didn't, Hermione sniffed, "The pot must never call the kettle black. It has no right."

"Well, I'm not a pot anymore," he replied tersely.

"I'm a part of something that's very important. You know that. We're on the brink of unlocking the brains in the Ministry. We're on the cusp of learning everything there is to know about how they work … and how the human brain wo—"

"I know that already. I've partnered with you and Smith before. I know everything there is to know about your research, and I hate to break it to you, but you all have been on the cusp of figuring them out for years now," he dryly replied.

It was a cheap shot, but she didn't care. "Oh, you know all about our research, huh? Surprising. I never thought you cared—"

"Never thought I cared?" he snorted, "Caring has never been the issue here, at least not on my part. You're the one who doesn't give a shit about anything except for—" he stopped abruptly and sighed.

His fifth.

Hermione continued to bathe, scrubbing her skin nearly raw. She could hear him shuffle around outside the bathroom. The mental picture of him leaning his back against the door and folding his arms across his chest was vivid. "You've been drinking. You should just go to bed. We'll talk about it in the morning—"

"I don't want to talk about it in the morning," his voice was gruff with frustration. "I want to be able to walk in with my wife in the mornings and leave with my wife at night."

"Draco—"

"I want to be able to take you to dinner without Potter and Pansy there."

"I—"

"Every time Mother asks me how my 'Muggle-born girlfriend' is, I want to correct her—"

"Draco—"

"And what I want, most of all, is to be able to punch that sodding wanker, Smith, in the throat every time he makes cow eyes at you."

Finally, she broke into his rant. "You don't know what you're talking about, Draco! Zacharias does not make 'cow eyes' at me. He's just my research partner. He's a professional and he knows that I'm in a relationship. So, you're jealous for no reason!" She groaned, "You only want to go public to show me off—"

"Did I say any of that?"

"No! You just implied—"

"Hermione, did you hear anything else that I said? I—"

She wanted to cry. "Look, Draco, I'm sick and tired of fighting with you. Can we just call a cease-fire for the night because I just need a little peace right now? I'm too angry to have this discussion."

"But we need to talk."

She sighed, and the ratio of her sighs to his increased. "I don't want to talk. We're always talking. I—"

"What are you talking about?" he cut her off brusquely. "We never talk anymore, Hermione. Yelling is our preferred method of communication. Has been for the last six months."

Draco said nothing for what seemed like forever, but then she heard him rest his head against the door. He was thinking, again. All Hermione could do was bring her knees to her chest, wrap her arms around them … and wait.

It was times like this when she was reminded of the fact that they were no longer compatible. But they were, however, in love. They had always counted on that to keep everything else in balance. And, in an odd way, it worked. They worked.

But not anymore.

In the many nights of sleep that Hermione had sacrificed, she hadn't sacrificed herself; and in the many nights he had spent pacing in restlessness, he hadn't sacrificed himself. They were still the same people with the same problems on either side of a bathroom door. Someone needed to make a sacrifice before there was nothing left to sacrifice. And, even though she knew that, Hermione couldn't force herself to be the one because she had made more than her fair share of them.

It was his turn.

"This is why I suggested going public. This … arrangement … is the source of our problems."

She begged to differ. "We've had this arrangement for four years and it's never—"

"Do you honestly think that we can go on like this forever?"

"It's more complicated than that."

"No, you're making it more complicated than it has to be." Draco sighed. His sixth.

He was starting to catch up.

"I'm not," Hermione folded her arms across her chest. "We have more serious problems than that, and I hate the way that you keep ignoring them."

"I know you're angry that I left, but—"

She couldn't stop her anger from flaring back up. "Don't do that, Draco. Don't sit out there and tell me how I feel. I hate when you do that. You have no idea how I feel right now. You—" she cursed to herself. "Draco, I just—I just want—I need to be alone right now. Please."

Draco sounded just as angry as ever when he muttered, "Figured as much."

He then got up off the floor, and left her to her thoughts.

* * *

It was two in the morning when she joined him in bed. Draco was, as per usual, sleeping on his side, facing away from her, breathing deeply. He didn't move; not when she pulled some of the covers away from him, not when the bed creaked after she sat down, and not even when she restlessly turned from her back to her side.

Hermione sat up and drank a little of the water that he always left on her bedside table. Then, she tried tucking herself into bed, again. She curled on her side away from him and closed her eyes. The bedroom was cold; the wind was still blowing so hard that it rattled the windows. She pulled the sheets and blankets tightly around her body.

Some anniversary this was.

Unable to fall asleep, Hermione counted the stars beneath her eyes, and then took to listening to the rhythm of his breathing on the other side of the bed. When it changed, she knew that he was awake and wondered if he had been asleep at all.

"I don't think I can do this anymore," Draco said in an oddly calm voice, almost mechanical.

Hermione didn't roll over. "Do what?"

"This," he emphasised. "This isn't working."

"What isn't working?"

"Our marriage."

Hermione's heart started to race. True, she had been thinking similar thoughts for the last few weeks, but she never thought that Draco would ever actually be the one to speak his mind. It only meant that he had been thinking about it for a long time. And the realisation made her head hurt. Perhaps their marriage was worse off than the oak tree. It still hadn't fallen to the ground yet, but they had.

"I think we need to seek … other alternatives."

She didn't have to ask what alternatives he meant because there was only one that could fix a broken marriage. And that was divorce.

He breathed, she wept, he stilled, and she mourned.

And they slept facing away from each other … on opposite sides of the bed.


	2. April 6th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the second time in ten minutes, Hermione gaped at him. He was playing with her. She just knew it. So, she squared her shoulders and sat down. "I don't need it."
> 
> "Figured you would say that."

_Simple words we never knew,_  
The power behind what they put us through,  
Now it's all begun - what it takes to make it real.  
We're standing on the edge of this,  
When our soul is gone - what will we miss?  
We lost what it takes to really, really feel.

_Better days behind us now,_  
We all need someone to tell us how  
To save the state of where we are,  
Its keeps demanding more and more and more.  
**Save Us - Cartel**

_ **April 6th** _

Hermione was not used to failure.

And as she stared at the results of yet another failed experiment with narrowed eyes, she decided that she was not about to start getting used to it now. Her marriage was already swirling down the drain and Hermione would be _damned_ if her work started to fail, as well. So with determination etched on her face, she crumbled up the parchment and dropped it into the closest rubbish bin.

It was time to get to work.

Zacharias was waiting for her at their work table. His attention was focused on their research notes, probably in an attempt to see where or how they had gone wrong, but as soon as she sat down next to him, he peered up at her.

"I've decided to change the focus of our research," she announced as she gathered all the pieces of parchment that littered their work area.

His eyebrow rose slowly, "Oh?"

"Yes," Hermione stacked them, "I've been thinking about it. We've figured how to stop them from attacking once they're out of the solution and we've figured out that they work very much like our own brain, so it makes little sense to try and manipulate them when we should try to figure out what information they're storing. Do they have thoughts? Memories? What do they know?"

"Those are good questions."

"Exactly. And—" Their research notes quickly joined the results in the rubbish bin. Zacharias was observing her with the same wariness one would watch a person with Spattergroit, but she was on a roll. "What do we know about how the human brain processes thoughts?"

"It's extremely complex—"

"Exactly!" Hermione exclaimed, causing a few people to look in their direction. "There is so much that we don't know! This is the perfect project, don't you see?"

Her partner looked dubious for a moment.

She frowned impatiently, "Rather than manipulate them to see if they possess any powers, if we could find out how to extract their thoughts and maybe their secrets … we could unlock the mystery of the encephalons. If we're successful, it could be the most important thing to happen in the Department of Mysteries since … since I don't even know!"

At that, his eyes lit up. "You think?"

"I know. There's no telling how much these brains can tell us about the history of the Ministry … or even the history of the world."

"When do you want to get started working on this?"

"As soon as possible. It looks like I'm going to have a lot of spare time."

"What about that bloke you've been with? I'm sure he'll have something to say about that." At the strained look on Hermione's face, he came to his own conclusion. "Not working out?"

"No."

"Pity," he paused for a moment, "Oh well, now you can focus on more important things."

"Right," she muttered, trying to fight off the sudden wave of nausea.

"How long are you going to be here today? Hoggleton told me about you having to leave early today…."

"I actually have an appointment today with my solicitor, but—"

"Your solicitor? Nothing serious, I hope."

"No, I'm—"

Hermione actually had no plans to finish that sentence because it involved her confiding in him about her impending divorce. So, when the shrilled whirring of the emergency siren interrupted her, Hermione welcomed it.

Zacharias, like most everyone else, quickly leapt out of his chair with his wand drawn and began looking around frantically. Mass panic rapidly began to spread though the room; voices rose, chairs were knocked over, and a few people went for the door … only to discover that it had been magically sealed shut.

Needless to say, that only made things worse.

Zacharias, unsurprisingly, was the first person to fire a spell at the closest exit, only to discover that it, too, was locked. Hermione's body froze while her mind raced frantically to distinguish which alarm was sounding and how she should react. There was no need to panic, or so she told herself. Alarms sounded in the Department of Mysteries for many reasons, but—

The thought was interrupted by her boss, Langston Hoggleton, whose entrance she had not seen. His wand was to his neck, and she covered her ears only moments before he yelled, _"Silence!"_ Everyone immediately covered their ears and vocalized their disapproval, but soon it was silent. "We need to evacuate to the Atrium. Don't ask any questions about what happened because I'm not entirely sure myself."

"But the doors are locked!" someone shouted. "How are we supposed to evacuate?!"

They _clearly_ hadn't read their 'What-to-do-in-an-emergency' packet because every single person had forgotten rule number one: _Do Not Panic._ And they clearly had missed the emergency doors in the back of the room. Hermione could almost _smell_ the mandatory safety meeting in their near future.

It didn't smell very good.

With a grimace, she waited until her co-workers—led by Zacharias, of course—stopped bottle-necking at the exit before she followed them out.

The Atrium was in chaos as visitors and Ministry employees alike crowded in the centre, trying to figure out exactly what had caused the mass evacuation. It was loud and boisterous, but that wasn't entirely surprising to Hermione.

Nosy, paranoid buggers.

Aurors were put at all the exits to prevent anyone from leaving by way of the Floo, going back into their department, or coming in from the visitor's entrance. Magical Maintenance workers—more than she had ever seen in the six years she'd worked in the Ministry—were running into the lift. Ministry representatives were going around trying to calm down the visitors. And Healers had been brought in from St. Mungo's to help with whatever injuries might surface. Hermione stood on the side of the Fountain of Magical Brethren on the tips of her toes and tried to see if she could use her new height advantage to spot her partner in the crowd.

No such luck.

Hermione started to growl in frustration when she felt someone tap her leg. She looked down slowly and there was a young witch in Healer robes, holding a note card, and smiling nervously.

She must've graduated from Healer Academy … yesterday.

"Hi!" Hermione exclaimed, and hoped that the witch would be able to hear her over the crowd.

"Hi!" she replied back, "Did you just come from the Department of Mysteries?!"

Hermione's eyebrow rose slowly and she hopped down before replying with a polite, "Yes…is there something wrong? Are our things protected? We—"

"No, no, everything's fine. I have a few questions to ask," she glanced at the note card, "How do you feel? Are you feeling…reckless? Delusional? Infatuated?"

She stared at the young witch until she realised she wasn't joking. "Oh! Not at all."

"Great!" and she started to walk away.

Hermione caught her by the arm. "Oh, sorry, but do you know what's happened?"

The witch opened her mouth, but it was a very familiar male voice that said, "There was a massive Amortentia spill in the chamber, and—" Draco came into her line of vision when he leaned in a little to read her nametag. "Scarlett here was just making sure that you hadn't inhaled any noxious fumes."

She couldn't help it. Her shoulders immediately tensed as the stress that had somewhat dissipated during his absence returned with a vengeance. There was just something about his voice that immediately set her on edge, causing her shoulders bunch up to her ears.

Or maybe it was his cologne.

"Thank you, Scarlett, but I assure you that I'm not under the influence." Her voice sounded funny to her, but neither seemed to notice. "So, if the Department is closed for the day, can I lea—"

"I'm afraid that we can't let you leave until you take the antidote. Just to be on the safe side."

"Okay. Well, where is it? I'll take it."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible for at least another half hour. We've run out of antidotes."

"I actually have one." Draco produced a small vial.

Hermione declined. "You can keep it for yourself. I'm sure you have better things to do than to hang out here…"

"Not particularly. I've only just gotten back from Prague. I have nothing but—"

"Thanks for the offer, but no thanks," she snipped and turned to Scarlett, flashing a wide smile. "Well," Hermione patted the girl's shoulder. "When you get the next batch of antidotes, will you see to it that I get the first one? My name—"

"Oh, I already know who you are, Miss. Granger." And Hermione realised that her nervousness was actually an attempt to contain her excitement. _Bugger._ Scarlett flashed a blinding grin and continued, "And may I say that I am _such_ a big fan of yours! I've read every article that you've published; your research is so inspiring! _You_ are my inspiration!" The young witch took a breath. "I restarted S.P.E.W at Hogwarts in my Third Year, and even named my cat after you! She's a half-Kneazle and she hates cheaters, too, just like Crookshanks," she frowned for a second, "rest his soul…."

Draco chuckled. It was deep and throaty and Hermione found the sound travelling up the length of her spine to create that twinge, that indefinable shiver that she always felt around him. It wasn't fair. She shouldn't have that feeling anymore! Not when he wanted to divorce her.

Scarlett killed that thought with a grin and her next words, "Oh, and I have read _Hogwarts, a History_ over a hundred times! It's my favourite book, too."

_Too?_ Hermione didn't have the heart to tell her that her favourite book was—

"Actually, it's a Muggle book called, Wuthering Heights.. Reads it once a month, at the very least. Merlin forbid anyone get between her and Heathcliffe. She has this weird thing for tragic…heroes…."

The two witches turned to Draco, who had suddenly found something in the distance quite interesting. Hermione just gaped in shock and horror while Scarlett asked, "How—did you know that?"

He froze. "Well, it's—ahh, something that every _true_ fan should know."

_Smooth._

"Yes, but how did _you_—"

Scarlett was interrupted by another Healer calling her name. She blushed and excused herself, scurrying over to another witch—probably her superior. Hermione waited until she was out of earshot before she turned to him and fiercely whispered, "What game are you playing, Draco? Are you seriously trying to—?"

He interrupted her with a raised hand, "I wasn't playing any games. I actually came over here because I heard about the spill and wanted to make sure that you were fine."

"I'm fine." She folded her arms across her chest and tensely asked, "When did you get back?"

"A few hours ago," Draco replied, "I only came in to do some training."

"Training? Are you all getting a new Unspeakable in The Time Room?"

He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck. "Or something like that." Hermione didn't like the sound of that, but didn't ask anything about it; it wasn't as though he was going to tell her anything anyway. So, they stood there for a few moments long before he said, "I really do have an extra antidote."

"You can—"

Draco shifted his weight, "I got it for you, actually."

For the second time in ten minutes, Hermione gaped at him. He was playing with her. She just knew it. So, she squared her shoulders and sat down. "I don't need it."

"Figured you would say that."

And all she could think was that he had no right to sound bitter.

* * *

Hermione's mouth was starting to taste like an ashtray, but it didn't stop her from taking another pull, though this time it wasn't so deep. Inhale, exhale, ash; the nicotine was doing its job, tingling down her arms, as far down as her fingertips. Pretty soon she would be able to walk across the street and into her solicitor's office.

Her stomach clenched.

Hopefully.

She brought the fag back to her lips and inhaled, again. And she started to realise that what had started out as a habit spawned from stress, anger, weakness, and _Draco_ was slowly turning into a regular addiction. She had been smoking a lot lately. Well, smoking, thinking, and crying. In that exact order. It was such a vicious cycle.

Not to mention, exhausting.

Truth be told, she didn't want to be here. The day had already been long enough, and all this did was make it longer. But then she remembered that she'd had spent the three days that Draco was away procrastinating and avoiding the inevitable.

She could do it no longer.

Too bad knowing that didn't make walking through those doors any easier.

The act of actually meeting her solicitor was something akin to putting the final nail in the proverbial coffin. Hermione would have to accept that her marriage was over. She would also have to accept that she was the only one that cared.

Draco didn't—or, rather, she couldn't tell if he did or not. She had been struggling with the impending divorce for days, alternating between being silent and upset. However, he hadn't changed a bit. He seemed perfectly _Draco_ when she had seen him … completely unaffected by everything. She supposed the time apart had been for the best. Their exchange at the Ministry had been somewhat civil, but it was sad that the only reason for their civility was because they hadn't been in the same country.

And that was the real motivator that had made her come today.

Hermione finished her fag, threw it into the bin, and took a deep breath.

She could do this.

Yes, she could.

After looking both ways, she squared her shoulders and walked—with purpose— across the street and into the office.

The receptionist was a petite brunette, named Marian, who was barely older than Hermione herself. Her voice was disinterested and snooty when she coolly greeted her without even looking up from her _Daily Prophet_. "Good afternoon."

Her behaviour wasn't anything new, but it still made Hermione grimace. "Good afternoon, I—"

"Name and time of appointment, please?" the witch asked, again, without looking up.

Was that the crossword section? She looked closer. Yes, it was. She frowned. Ignored for a puzzle. It didn't get any worse than that. Hermione sighed to herself. Actually, it did. She was getting a divorce, after all. The receptionist thoughtfully tapped her quill against her chin.

Three. Two. One. "I'm Hermione Granger and—"

Her head jerked up, eyes wide with recognition. Before she could give a friendly greeting, the receptionist was grinning. "Oh! Good afternoon, Ms. Granger! It's always such a pleasure when you come in." After conspicuously sliding her crossword puzzle into the first drawer, Marian sifted through some papers and scanned one with her eyes and finger. "It looks as though you're just a bit early for your three o'clock, but that's fine. Mr. Porbeagle is in a meeting right now, would you like to wait in the private area?"

Ah, the private area. For celebrity clients and important authority figures. It was completely silent and nice for someone who had entirely too much on their mind. Hermione, sadly, didn't fit that description. She needed the small noises that the regular waiting area provided. "No thank you. I'll just sit in the waiting area."

"Oh, really, I—"

"Thank you very much for your offer, but I will have to pass."

Marian opened her mouth one time, but stopped and nodded, cheeks tinged pink. "Is there anything that you would like? Tea, pastries, coffee, water … we have the best—"

Knowing that she wouldn't stop until she was successful, Hermione gently cut the witch off. "Water. That would be fantastic."

By the time she settled herself in the nearly empty waiting area, the receptionist had returned with cold water in a fancy glass. After thanking Marian, Hermione realised that the witch wasn't going to leave without witnessing her drink from the glass. So, she took a small sip and complimented the smoothness of the water. That appeased the witch enough to get her to return to her desk.

Except for the soft music pouring from the small wireless, the waiting area was nearly silent. There was a man sitting in the corner reading the paper; the sound of his bouncing feet was muffled by the brown carpet that covered the floor. She took another sip of her water and allowed her eyes to wander above him to the logo of the office, affixed to the wall. Hermione then slowly turned to the designer clock mounted on the wall, and sighed.

She had arrived early. Nearly thirty minutes early.

Bugger.

Hermione realised, though, that it was probably just as well. Because, as she looked around the room for the millionth time, she came to the realisation that she wasn't too sure how to handle everything that was going on today. Her mind screamed for another fag, but she ignored its plea because she found herself caught up on how different this room looked now. She only came once a year to update her will and check on her assets, but now she was here for something other than money.

She was here about her life. She was here because of the knowledge that she and Draco weren't anywhere near who they had been in the past. It wasn't the change that had bothered her most. People changed all the time. It was a common fact of life. It was the fact that _they_ didn't seem to know who they were anymore. It was the fact that they didn't know who the other was anymore. And for Hermione….

Well, she'd come to realise that she wasn't so sure if she knew herself anymore.

"You look troubled."

Hermione snapped out of her trance and focused on the man who had yet to look up from his paper. "Excuse me?"

"Like I said, you look troubled. Are you troubled?"

It wasn't like her to talk to strangers because there was no telling just who they really were, but he didn't seem to recognise her … or else he wouldn't have asked her that particular question. To the entire wizarding world, she was a happy and very single witch. Happy. She almost snorted. She hadn't been very happy in her marriage in so long that she wondered if happiness was an illusion. "Troubled?"

"Very. You look like you're about to lose your best friend."

And it surprised her how on the mark that he was. "I think I am."

No, not think. It was almost a definite. _Was_ a definite. Gods, was this _really_ her life?

Talk about unconventional.

She snorted.

If there was one thing she and Draco were, it was not conventional.

Draco had parted from his expectations and duties as the Malfoy heir the day he'd slipped a note into her pocket five years ago, asking if she would join him for dinner after work. She'd endorsed this schism with one word: _yes_.

Hermione herself had never been one for traditions and she had never been one for settling. The _second_ she'd found out that Ron wanted six children and the reincarnation of Molly Weasley for a wife, Hermione had run from the relationship as if there were a pack of ravenous werewolves coming after her.

Of course, she and Draco would have never even gotten to that point had it not been for Harry Potter's two unconventional decisions:

First, when Harry testified for the Malfoys in court, he decided to not only tell the truth of what he'd seen with his own eyes, but also what he'd seen through Voldemort's. His testimony had been enough to keep the entire Malfoy family out of prison and clear Draco's record, which made him eligible to sit for his NEWTs and secure a job in the Ministry. Their odd friendship flourished soon after. Second, in a move that had shocked the entire wizarding world, after spending the first two years following the war in near seclusion, Harry decided to do something that wasn't expected of him. So, instead of applying to the Auror Department, he'd chosen to apply to the Department of Mysteries.

Occupation: Unspeakable.

By this point, both Hermione and Draco had been working in The Brain Room for over a year, but hadn't interacted much; except on a few tense occasions where she'd been forced to work with him. Draco never looked at her or spoke, so she figured that Harry had been wrong about him, and that he was still the prejudiced arse that he had been in school.

It had taken two quiet lunches with Harry and Draco for the latter to speak to her for the first time. Hermione couldn't recall what he'd said, but remembered that it had made her smile when she was by herself.

It had taken eight lunches and one group dinner with an uncharacteristically chatty Pansy Parkinson for Hermione to realise that Draco Malfoy was not a man of many words. The uneasy witch had been invited only to even the Gryffindor to Slytherin _and_ male to female ratios, but her presence had only made things worse. Draco had said four words during dinner, and they had been directed to Harry about Pansy. _"She's obviously nervous, Potter."_

It had taken fifteen lunches, four weekly group dinners, and half of a one-on-one conversation for her to realise that she didn't mind his company. It was during the first group dinner without Harry and while they waited for Pansy. She and Draco found themselves in a deep conversation about magical theory. So deep, that they were well into dessert when she realised that Pansy hadn't showed.

It had taken forty-one lunches, nineteen weekly group dinners, seven one-on-one conversations, and one semi-friendly Quidditch match at the Burrow for her to quietly agree that he was attractive. And Merlin, every day after that was sheer torture because Draco unconsciously never let her forget it.

It had taken fifty-two lunches, twenty-six weekly group dinners, ten one-on-one conversations, three friendly Quidditch matches, and a leisurely walk for Hermione to really begin to like him. Not just a person, but as a man, too.

And it had taken sixty-eight lunches, forty-five weekly group dinners, twenty one-on-one conversations, seven friendly Quidditch matches, six leisurely walks, and one note in her pocket for Hermione to become intrigued.

There was nothing like a little intrigue to alter someone's—

"—a word I said?"

Hermione's cheeks turned pink. "Sorry, I didn't."

The man gave a half-hearted shrug. "Maybe that's your problem."

She didn't have time to respond because Marian came around the corner, beaming. "Ms. Granger, Mr Porbeagle will see you now. Mr Finch, Mr Smithenson will be with you in just a moment."

After bidding the wizard a farewell, she followed Marian out of the waiting area, down the main hall, and stood beside her as she knocked on the third door on the left. She heard a very muted and familiar, "come in," through the thick mahogany and stood there as the witch opened the door for her. It was kind of ridiculous because opening the door was something that she was capable of doing herself, but she didn't want to hurt the woman's feelings in front of her boss.

Her solicitor was standing at his desk, organising a few pieces of parchment when Hermione entered his office. He greeted her with a smile and a handshake before she took a seat in the comfortable chair in front of his desk. Hermione watched patiently as he squinted at a few pieces of parchment through thick, black-framed glasses before giving them to Marian. She nodded at the witch when she flashed another bright smile in her direction before leaving the room.

"So," he sat down in his desk. "What brings you in today, Hermione?"

After she had married Draco, Atticus, who had handled all the legal aspects of their union, had called her Mrs. Malfoy for two solid months. Until she confessed that the title always gave her the strongest urge to look over her shoulder for Draco's mother.

Atticus Porbeagle reminded her of Arthur Weasley, not in physical appearance but in character. He was arguably the best solicitor in London. When Draco referred her to him just after they had started dating, it didn't take long for Hermione to trust him implicitly. It wasn't just his experience, his discretion, his fairness, and his kindness that had comforted her; there was just something about him that was paternal.

"I have a few questions about …" the witch took a hard breath and forced herself to finish, "magical divorces."

The solicitor's eyes softened. "Oh, I had—"

She cut him off, hoping that he would see that she didn't want to discuss it. "I tried to do a little research, but all the information is conflicting. I need facts."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief when Atticus straightened his glasses, again. "Magical divorces aren't common, which is probably why your research did you little good. There are less than two every year because there are some heavy stipulations that come with dissolving a magical marriage."

"But it's not impossible, right?"

"No, of course not. Actually it can happen quickly if the correct channels are taken."

"So, what do I need to know?"

"Before you can do anything, you and your husband will have to have a session with the magical marriage counsellor; to show that you are trying to work it out. Typically, couples decide against divorce after one session." Hermione instantly wondered how _one hour_ could change the minds of so many couples. "For couples who, after that meeting, still want to divorce, the paperwork is drawn. It will be easier for a magical divorce to be approved if the divorce is uncontested and there are no children involved. Everything is taken into consideration in the approval process for a divorce: length of marriage, the reason why the couple is divorcing, and the recommendation of the marriage counsellor."

"This all sounds very reasonable."

"There are a few things that you should know, Hermione. Once both signatures are on the divorce papers, the divorce is finalised immediately and your papers are put in the public record where anyone can find them. And on top of all that, neither partner can re-marry for a thousand days."

"The public record?" she balked. That was not appealing. A thousand days, she could live with. She didn't plan on re-marrying in a thousand _years_ "Is there anything that you can do to—?"

"No. It's the rules." Atticus Porbeagle leaned forward. "May I be frank here for a moment?" When she nodded, he continued. "I strongly advise against it. Divorces are messy, and are physically and emotionally draining for both parties. And, sometimes, I understand that they are necessary, but a second look at saving your marriage should be an option before more serious actions are taken."

Hermione nodded tersely. "I understand what you're saying. Not only was divorce not _my_ idea, but I have done everything to try and save this marriage."

"Everything?"

Her voice wavered slightly. "Y-yes. I think so."

Porbeagle nodded. "If you truly feel that way, Hermione, then here," he reached into the top desk drawer and pulled out a card. "She's the best magical marriage counsellor in London. Tell her that I sent you and she will be more than willing to see you at your earliest convenience."

* * *

Dinner with Harry and Pansy was, for the first time in a very long time, pleasant. Better than pleasant, as it was probably one of the best nights that she'd had in a long while. The atmosphere had been wonderful, the food exquisite, and there had been much more conversation than silence.

And when they parted ways with the hand-holding couple who were eager to get back home to their son, Hermione wasn't the only one who had a smile on her face. Draco, who had started the meal quiet, was now in an oddly good mood.

It wasn't so much odd as that she hadn't seen him look genuinely happy since last December when he had returned from Japan with an ancient book of spells that he later found was very important in his quest to discover a spell that would lessen the effects of the Cruciatus curse. Hermione's smile faded slightly when she realised that the last time she'd seen him genuinely happy had had nothing to do with her. She then wondered just when had been the last time he'd been genuinely happy _because_ of her, but couldn't immediately find the answer.

They _had_ been happy together at one time, right? Something must've drawn her to him, right? Something must've made them take the plunge and not only date, but marry, right? Right! So, why couldn't she remember? Wait, no. Why had she _allowed_ herself to forget?

"You're quiet tonight." Draco observed; his voice much quieter than it had been during dinner.

"Just thinking, that's all." When she felt the back of his fingers brush against hers, she looked at him curiously because she knew that it was no accident. And it felt confusing because just four days ago he was telling her that they needed to get a divorce.

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

"About?"

She couldn't remember the last time he'd asked her what was on her mind. Draco often thought himself a Seer, and frequently told her how she felt, but he'd done anything like this for a very long time. Tonight was different. "Just about things," Hermione muttered, shrugging, "Nothing important."

The confusing moment continued when his pinkie finger slowly curled around hers. Hermione smoothly extracted her finger from his and ignored the slighted look on his face. What was his problem? Perhaps the wine at dinner had compromised his intelligence or shut down the part of his brain that controlled memory. Draco had no right to touch her, and more than that, he had no right to look upset when she pulled away.

"I don't want to argue tonight."

"And you think _I_ do?"

He sighed with exasperation, but said nothing.

She waited until they were closer to the Apparition point before she stopped and said, "I've been thinking about what you said."

"What?" he stopped and looked at her.

"Four nights ago, when you said that we needed to seek other alternatives."

Draco's eyes widened slightly with recognition. "What about it?"

"I didn't know how to feel at first so I went to talk to someone about it. They gave me a lot of advice about what we should do and who we should see."

"Oh really?" he drawled.

"Yeah," Hermione looked down at her hands. "If it's what you really want then—"

"It's less about what I want and more about what we need."

"Right," she did her best to ignore just how hurt the tone of his voice had made her feel, and soldiered on. "I got this card for a magical marriage counsellor and I hear she's the best at what she does. I Floo'd her and she said that she could meet with us on the thirteenth at three in the afternoon. I didn't know what your schedule was like—"

"I'll be there."

Hermione found it hard to control—not just her anger, but her bitterness. She was hurt more now than she had ever been before. And in that moment, she would've gladly gone back to that night at Malfoy Manor during the war. Because, at twenty-seven, having her marriage fall apart and her heart broken felt more like someone was torturing her slowly, cruelly. Hermione had to look away from Draco, because she knew that if she took even a single glance up at his face, she would lose the composure that she'd been clinging to for the last four days.

And she couldn't let him do that to her.

Not now.

She cleared her throat. "Great. Porbeagle says that every couple petitioning for divorce should—"

Draco suddenly took a step back, causing her to look up suddenly. He looked as if he'd been hit in the stomach with a bludger and the colour in his cheeks had gone from a dusky pink to nearly white. "Divorce." It wasn't a question, only a statement uttered in a harsh whisper. So many—too many emotions had swept across his face in that moment and blended together that Hermione couldn't distinguish them from each other. "Divorce?" the—was that pain?—inflected in his voice made her entire body burn.

What was wrong with him? He shouldn't have been so surprised, not when he knew it was coming. Not when he'd suggested it to her four nights ago. She was the one who was supposed to agonise, not him. Not—and just like that Draco's face hardened.

"You want a divorce?" he asked tightly; shoulders were only millimetres from his ears.

How in the hell was she supposed to answer that? No. Yes. Maybe. She didn't know. So Hermione eventually settled with, "I want what you want."

It was clearly the wrong answer because Draco glared at her with such intense fury when he told her, "You obviously have no fucking _clue_ what I want."

Then, he turned and walked in the opposite direction, away from her.

And that night, Hermione slept alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of JK Rowling. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


	3. April 13th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What do you remember, Draco?"
> 
> Hermione snorted. "I don't think he remembers any—"
> 
> "The grass was so wet that it was muddy," Draco blurted out. "I could hear the Registrar's shoes squelch with every step that he took. I remember being utterly annoyed with almost everything, except you."

_I am outside_  
And I've been waiting for the sun  
With my wide eyes  
I've seen worlds that don't belong  
My mouth is dry with words I cannot verbalize  
Tell me why we live like this**  
We Are Broken - Paramore**

**April 13th**

** _3:03pm_ **

Hermione was going to kill him.

After tapping her foot impatiently and squinting her eyes, she scanned the semi-busy street for a familiar head of blond hair. To her extreme disappointment, she didn't see him. He was late, and it was disturbing because Draco was never late … for anything. He thrived on punctuality, schedules, and plans; those were some of the attributes of his that had initially drawn her in.

Was he even coming?

It had been his idea, after all. Of course he wouldn't stand her up. Still, he'd taken the note that had the time and location of their appointment off of the kitchen table before he'd left for work. They'd even spoken long enough to agree to arrive ten minutes ahead of their appointment time—to be on the safe side.

Truth be told, the conversation hadn't happened _exactly_ like that.

Draco had actually just sat there with the same vacant expression that he'd been wearing for the last seven days and nodded while she gave instructions. Had he heard her at all? She'd worked hard to make sure that this appointment could happen and he—Hermione released a loud aggravated groan that earned her a few strange looks from the few people in the vicinity. The witch made a face and fished into her pockets for her lighter and fags, only to discover that she only had one left.

One bloody cigarette.

_One_.

Where had the rest gone?

Hermione shrugged the rhetorical question off and proceeded to light up her third cigarette of the morning. She took a long drag, exhaled, sat on an empty bench next to the door, and began the new—and aggravating—process of waiting on him. Crossing her legs, Hermione looked around again, instantly feeling her irritation mount when she didn't see Draco.

Irritation. Anger. Disappointment. Sadness. Confusion. Were those the only emotions she was capable of feeling? Where had the love gone? They'd been together for four years, married for two, and now she was watching as their relationship made its final run before going down the drain. And what made it worse was that the questions of _when_ and _how_ everything had gone so terribly wrong absolutely _refused_ to leave her mind.

It wasn't as though they had planned for all this to happen … it just had.

Until six months ago, she and Draco had discussed the secrecy of their relationship exactly two times. Once, when they had officially decided that they wanted to be together, and again when they decided that they wanted to marry. She remembered specifically that at the time of their marriage, Draco had just taken a position in the Time Room and neither was ready to make the sacrifices that came with an open relationship.

He was right though, she admitted sourly to herself. It had never been about the prejudices of his family or the intense public scrutiny that had nearly torn apart Harry and Pansy's marriage. However, those two things _had_ weighed very heavily on Hermione's mind in the beginning, right after the moment the new relationship jitters had passed. There had been plenty of moments in the beginning when she thought about going public, but the deal breaker had been their careers.

Or, more importantly, their unwillingness to jeopardise them.

Due to the nature of their work inside the Department of Mysteries, there had always been an extremely strict code of ethics and conduct. Dating—or Merlin forbid, _marrying_—anyone in the Department, no matter in what division, was strictly forbidden both by policy and custom.

Hiding their relationship from the world had always been easy. They were used to not seeing each other consistently. Her job as head researcher kept her in the Ministry for long hours, but his involved travelling to and working in the Time rooms of foreign Ministries. It was never for any more than a couple of days, and she never got upset because they both knew the order of their priorities.

Careers first, relationship second. Mixing the two always ended badly. So, there were no snogging sessions during their breaks or trysts in the dark aisles in the Hall of Prophecy. There was a time and a place for all that, and they used their time wisely.

It worked. _They_ worked. And then four words changed everything.

Draco proposed at midnight on the top of the London Eye, and Hermione never hesitated before she tearfully said yes. But now, as she sat on the bench in front of the marriage counsellor's office, she inhaled and wondered if she should've put more thought into turning their secret relationship into a secret marriage.

It seemed simple enough at the time. All they were doing was adding rings and promises, and subtracting their flats and black books. They had been happy in their relationship, and she just _knew_ that making it legal wouldn't change anything.

Maybe _that_ was where they had gone wrong.

"Did we have a fight?"

Hermione's thoughts scattered like loose paper in the wind. Her head jerked up from the ground. Immediately, she squinted at the sun rays that peeked over Draco's shoulder and raised her hand to block it out. Much better. Now, what had he said, again? "Excuse me?"

"You only smoke when we fight." He pointed out.

She blinked. "And?"

"We haven't fought—hell, we've barely talked—so, why are you smoking?"

Without answering his question, Hermione stood, put it out, and walked to the closest rubbish bin to throw it—and the empty pack of cigarettes—away. She took a deep breath and abruptly turned around, expecting Draco to be several metres behind her, but quickly found that that wasn't the case when she immediately ran into him.

There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that she would've fallen hard, but Draco reached out and caught her hand, steadying her. After forcing herself to ignore the tingling sensation that shot up her arm, she squared her shoulders and boldly asked, "Why are you late?"

"I wasn't late. The appointment, as you said in your note, starts at three-thirty."

"No, I—"

Draco produced the note and read it aloud. "The appointment starts a three-thirty; let's meet outside at three-twenty. Don't be late." While she silently ate a helping of crow, he folded the note at put it back in his pocket. "Not that punctuality has ever been a problem of mine."

"Let's just go inside."

* * *

Draco stared at her from the corner of his eye, but Hermione kept her eyes focused on her book and pretended like she couldn't feel his gaze upon her. But really, it was burning her alive, causing a taut smile to appear on her face. She couldn't figure out why—or what game he was trying to play by staring at her. He must've known that she was aggravated. He had to! Though her rigid smile was small and hardly noticeable, Hermione knew that Draco could see it because he was looking quite pleased with himself.

She scowled and tried, to no avail, to focus on her novel. However, after squirming in her chair for the third time, Hermione finally sighed with exasperation and turned to him. "What?"

Draco's eyebrow rose. "What?"

"You're staring at me. It's disturbing. What exactly do you want?"

"Nothing. I'm just trying to figure out why—"

The counsellor's assistant—a tall and lanky older witch—suddenly materialized before them. She looked at them before drawling, "Ms Melonakos will see you now. Follow me."

Draco frowned while Hermione nearly leapt from her seat. She could feel his eyes on the back of her neck as they followed the witch down a long hallway before coming to a stop in front of the final door. The witch gave the door only one knock before she nodded at them both and disappeared right before their eyes.

Weird.

The door opened automatically and the two exchanged looks before Draco gestured for her to walk in first. Of course he would. She snorted, narrowed her eyes and stood in the archway of the door and peered into a rather odd-looking office.

Quite odd, and empty, too.

It was the strange music filtering from unseen speakers that first grabbed her attention. But then the actual look of the office distracted her from the music.

"I've just walked into the Greek scavenger hunt from hell."

Hermione snorted, but Draco actually had a point. The urge to start looking around for nine spoons, a rubber ducky, and three candlesticks was almost overwhelming. It was an organised mess of furniture, art, and rugs, if she'd ever saw one. There were at least eight windows in the office; all were dressed with plain blue curtains that had been pulled to the side, allowing sunlight to fully illuminate the space. And, goodness, the sun did little to dull the stark white walls, but the sheer amount of pictures and paintings made it tolerable.

Barely.

The counsellor had interesting taste in art.

There were a few landscape paintings that looked like they had been stolen from over the headboard of some shady hotel room. There were seashell lamps all over the room, decorative plates, and flags—Greek flags. They were everywhere. There were two little ones on the desk, one hanging on the wall behind the desk, and the rug in the centre of the room was actually a giant Greek flag.

"Someone is clearly proud of their—"Hermione's words died on her lips when she lifted her head and spotted a wall of framed photos of smiling and kissing couples of all ages. "Oh my—"

Draco made a noise. "What in the—"

"Must be her success wall."

Silence settled between them Hermione thought he was going suggest that they go on inside and wait, but instead he asked, "Are you sure that you want to go in there?"

"What other choice do we have?"

He looked around before replying with, "We could always leave…."

"In all honesty, I'd rather take my chance and go in than leave." And she proved that by walking into the room. It looked stranger on the inside than it did from the doorway.

Several moments later, when Draco stepped into the room, the door shut behind him with a soft click. They looked at each other, both suddenly very wary. It was the first time that they felt the same emotion in a long time, and Hermione didn't know how to feel about that. She didn't know how to feel about this marriage counsellor, either. Who would leave clients in their office all alone? And _what_ was that smell?!

"It smells like unicorn vomit." Hermione blurted out, much to her horror. Draco started chuckling and she covered her mouth.

"Right in one guess," the blue and white striped chair next to the wall said. They didn't have a moment to digest the fact that the chair was speaking because it transformed into a short, plump older witch with curly brown hair and a strange mole on the side of her chin. She wore the strangest blue and white striped robes that Hermione had ever seen.

"Merlin, this is like Divination all over again, only Trelawney wasn't _half_ the crackpot that t—" Draco made a face, clearly stifling his word. There was a look of extreme confusion on his face.

"Unicorn vomit is an ingredient of Verisimilimist."

"Verisimil—what?" Draco made a face that made him look so much like his mother. It took everything she had to stop that thought from making it past her lips.

"Verisimilimist is like the slightly less irritating third cousin—twice removed—of Veritaserum. It allows a person to speak the truth freely, unlike Veritaserum, which only allows the taker to answer yes or no questions. The air in the room is laced with it, which will explain your—I suppose—uncharacteristic quips." When Hermione blushed the lady waved her off, "Oh don't be embarrassed, people have said much worse."

So this was the secret to her success? A truth mist! Hermione couldn't believe it.

"Why aren't you under the influence?" she asked.

"Not only do I have the antidote, but I think I've become immune to it."

Draco folded his arms across his chest and eyed her sceptically. "I've never heard of Verisimilimist before. It can't be Ministry approved."

"It is, and the reason why you've never heard of it is because it's Greek."

He blinked. "And your point?"

"I invented it."

"That doesn't make it Greek."

"_I'm_ Greek, so therefore, my potion is Greek," she looked at Hermione, "Is he always this snippy?"

She didn't even try to stifle her answer. "Actually, yes."

Draco scowled.

The counsellor smiled and extended her hand. "I'm Marla Melonakos, and you must be Draco and Hermione Malfoy." She shook hands with them both. "It's a pleasure to meet you both." She then gestured to a long sofa in the corner of the room. It had plastic over it. Come to think of it—her eyes swept over the room. _All_ the furniture was tan and covered with plastic. "Please take a seat." When they were comfortable on the sofa, shoulder to shoulder but not touching, she took her seat in an odd-looking armchair. A coffee pot and two cups appeared on the coffee table in front of them. Hermione instinctively leaned back. "Would you like some coffee?"

Hermione opened her mouth to politely decline when Draco blurted out, "You spiked our air, why would we want your coffee?"

"Draco!" she exclaimed, hitting him in the shoulder. He took the hit with a nonchalant shrug and a small smirk. If she didn't know any better, she would say that he was starting to enjoy speaking his mind—or the potions had caused irreversible brain damage.

"He has a valid point." With a snap of her fingers, the kettle and cups disappeared. Ms Melonakos leaned back in her antique chair, "I suppose you wouldn't want any baklava, would you?"

"No," he snipped.

"It's very sweet. A favourite amongst my clients. Made it fresh this mo—"

Before Draco could retort with another brusque response, Hermione politely declined with a, "No, but thank you for offering."

"You're very welcome," she rested her hands on her lap. "Now, I'm going to ask you both a series of questions, just to make an assessment and to get you two talking to each other. Is that okay?"

"Sure," Hermione replied while Draco merely nodded.

"Great. First, why are you two here today?"

"Aren't you supposed to take notes?" she asked, her face scrunched up.

"I am. Right here," the witch tapped her temple. "Now, go on, answer the question. Mrs. Malfoy—"

"Please call me Hermione."

The counsellor smiled. "Okay, Hermione, you first."

First? She definitely didn't want to answer this question first. So she sat and visibly struggled against the Verisimilimist, while Draco watched.

"Careful there, you don't want to struggle against it for too long. It's tiring."

She wasn't lying. It was like fighting off the Imperius curse.

"Go on."

Hermione struggled against it for a few seconds before she caved. "My solicitor said that it's mandatory for all divorcing couples to see a marriage counsellor." There, she had said it. And the tension in her head had all but disappeared. If her arm hadn't brushed against his in that instant, she would've missed the way that he tensed.

"Ah, true. Now you, Draco."

"I'm only here because Hermione asked me to come," he answered frankly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and looked at him, confused, but said nothing. She noticed that Ms Melonakos was looking at her intently, as if she were expecting her to say something. When several moments of silence passed, the witch nodded and continued with her questions. "How long have you been married?"

"Two years," they answered simultaneously, dully.

"What do you remember about your wedding?"

Draco frowned. "I don't understand how this is relev—"

"It was raining," Hermione spoke up, much to her surprise. "It had rained the entire week and you," she looked at him, "wanted me to change the date, but I had my mind set on it. Rain, after all, is a symbol of fortune and abundance … and change. I thought it was fitting."

"What do you remember, Draco?"

Hermione snorted. "I don't think he remembers any—"

"The grass was so wet that it was muddy," Draco blurted out. "I could hear the Registrar's shoes squelch with every step that he took. I remember being utterly annoyed with almost everything, except you."

"Me?" she asked faintly.

"I remember that the Registrar practically panted our vows because he was late and never had a chance to catch his breath. I remember the awkwardness between Pansy and the entire Weasley clan. I remember overhearing your mother voice her concerns about you being ready to make the sacrifices that come with marriage. I remember Weasley glaring at me during the entire ceremony. I remember Pansy refusing to stop complaining about the mud on her shoes. I remember that Potter repeatedly asked me if I was nervous because he refused to accept the fact that I wasn't. He seemed to think that everyone vomited hours before their wedding."

"And Hermione, what do you remember about her?"

Draco looked highly uncomfortable. "Gods, I can't believe that I'm saying this, but every time I felt ready to draw my wand and hex everyone, she reminded me of all the reasons why I was getting married on the top of a hill, in the rain, two miles from the Burrow."

All she could do was stare at him in near disbelief. Oh, Hermione knew that he was annoyed, but she had no idea about the rest.

It was silent after that, but not for long. "Where did you honeymoon at?"

"We didn't," Hermione answered. "It would've looked suspicious if we had both taken the week off and disappeared, so we spent the rest of the weekend moving into our house. I took off that next Monday to get everything in order, and he took off that Tuesday to finish everything that I didn't complete the previous day. After that, it was back to work."

"I see … very career oriented?"

"Very." Hermione replied, while Draco shifted in his chair.

Ms Melonakos nodded and then asked, "What is the biggest struggle that you two face as a couple?"

She looked over at Draco, whose hands were clenched and cheeks were a little pink. He was clearly trying to hold back, and it annoyed her. "I personally think that our biggest struggle is that we can't finish a fight."

"Oh?" the counsellor looked intrigued. "Do explain."

"Every time we fight, he leaves … and most of the time, he doesn't come back."

"I came back last time." Draco pointed out tersely.

"Yes, one time out of the hundreds of times that we've fought. Congratulations," she quipped with a roll of her eyes.

"I can't believe you're still upset about that."

"I'm _always_ upset about that, Draco! You leave! You walk out the door and you never look back!"

"But I came back! I don't usually come back!"

"Maybe you should just stick to what works for you, then."

Draco frowned, but said nothing. His cheeks were pinkening.

Hermione sighed. "Why do we do this? Huh?"

He took a deep breath. "We aren't doing anything to each other, except waging war. Maybe that's the problem. Maybe we should be doing something else."

"Like what?"

"Like … stop kidding ourselves."

She couldn't believe how much his words hurt and instead of showing that pain, she hardened her heart and face. "You're right. Maybe we should just stop kidding ourselves. This is an absolute waste of time," she started to stand up, "I—"

"You both are making some amazing progress already."

"Progress? We just yelled at each other and demonstrated how wrong we are for each other."

Draco shifted in his chair, again.

"Couples fight, it's natural. It doesn't mean that you're wrong for each other. But I do have a question, Hermione. Did you hear a word that he said?"

"Of course. He said that we should stop kidding ourselves."

"Yes, but don't you wonder what he wants you all to stop kidding yourselves about?"

"I already know."

"Do you now?" Draco must've made a face because the counsellor gave him the same pointed look that she had given her a few minutes ago. "I have a feeling that you two are speaking in two different languages, metaphorically, not literally."

She flexed her fingers. "What? I heard everything he said."

"Did you really?"

"Of course!"

"But did you _understand_?"

"I did."

"So tell me what you think he means by 'we should stop kidding ourselves'."

"I _know_ he means our sham of a marriage."

"That's _exactly_ what I'm talking about!" Draco exclaimed, gripping the arm of the sofa.

"See!" Hermione exclaimed. "I know—"

"Why, Draco, do you think your marriage is a sham?"

He stopped struggling long enough to reply, "Because outside of the witnesses and her parents, no one else knows about it. It's a secret."

"And how does that make you feel?" Draco bit on his lip to stop himself from speaking. The counsellor shook her head. "It's really not good to struggle—"

"It's no longer a secret by choice," he blurted out.

"What?!" Hermione exclaimed. "We _both_ decided that it was best for everyone that we keep our relationship between us!"

"I don't dispute that," he said tightly.

"Then what are you talking about when you say it's no longer a choice?"

He struggled in vain for several minutes before he closed his eyes. "I don't want to discuss this anymore."

"No, Draco, you don't get to do that! Tell me why you say it's not a choic—"

"I've already told you!" he exploded. "I've been telling you for months and I'm not telling you again so you can say the same thing all over!" his voice lowered to a harsh whisper, "I'd prefer not to waste my breath."

She furrowed her brows in confusion. "What are you talking about?" Draco continued to fight the Verisimilimist with his eyes closed, but he looked more like he was in pain now. Hermione stared at him in disbelief. What the hell was he fighting not to say? "Ms Melonakos, it's obvious that Draco isn't going to say whatever is on his mind. It's obvious that he can't just be honest for once. It's—"

His eyes shot open and they were filled with something that Hermione had seen only when he was minutes from leaving. Anger. "It's obvious that you don't know the first thing about me, Hermione," Draco spat, his voice filled with resentment. "You want me to be honest? Fine. I'll be perfectly honest."

"Draco—" Ms Melonakos started, but was sharply cut off.

"No," he raised his hand and turned to a wide-eyed Hermione. "I love you—I don't even know why, but I do."

Hermione said nothing.

"But the problem is that your head is so far up your own arse it's no wonder you can't hear me—no, _really_ hear me. You want to know what's on my mind? Fine, but you better listen because I'm not saying this again. Keeping our marriage a secret really wasn't something I wanted. I thought it was pointless, but I did it for you. Hermione, it is one thing to keep the fact that we're dating a secret, but it's an entirely different thing to keep a _marriage_ a secret. It's entirely a different thing when you have to listen to people ogle over your _wife_ and you're unable to do or say anything because _no one knows._"

Silence followed his words.

"Well, this is fantastic prog—"

Hermione cut the counsellor off. "Why didn't you say anything?"

And that set him off, again. "Have you met yourself? Really, have you? Because if you had, you would know that you're the most stubborn witch on the planet! You convince yourself of the truth and you go on from there because you think you know everything about everyone. Well, I'll be the first to say that you don't know the first thing about me, and _that_ is the root of our problems."

"Of course, knowing your spouse is—"

Draco interrupted Ms Melonakos with a sharp look before turning back to Hermione, who had stubbornly pursed her lips. "If you _did_ know me, Hermione, you would have never have made the stupid assumption that I wanted to be in a secret marriage for the rest of my life. Did you honestly think that we could hide it forever?"

"Yes, I did."

"What's the point?"

Silence.

"Now that we—" Ms Melonakos started, only to be cut off again. She threw up her hands.

"I guess that's why we're here, huh?" Hermione said bitterly. "I guess that's why you suggested divorce, huh?"

Draco looked completely frustrated. "I _never_ suggested divorce!"

"Yes you did!" she argued. When you said that we needed to seek alternative options!"

"When I said alternative options, I was talking about _counselling_! Potter suggested it. He and Pansy are in it right now, have been for years, and he thought it would be good for us. I don't know where you got the idea that I wanted a divorce from, probably from the same place that you get the idea that you know everything! I only came today to try and convince you that you were making a mistake, I came here because I wanted to work it out, but now … I think you may have a point."

Her heart started racing.

"You've made your decision. Divorce is clearly something that you want, or else you wouldn't have convinced yourself that it was something _I_ wanted."

She bit the inside of her cheek before she tensely said, "Draco—"

He never let her finish.

"If you want this divorce so badly, then you can have it. I'm finished. I'm done fighting with you and I'm done fighting _for_ you." He stood up and started to walk out amidst Ms Melonakos' loud protesting. He made it halfway to the door before he stopped and turned around. And that was when she saw it for the first time.

Pain.

This was hurting him.

_She_ was hurting him.

"And just so we're clear, I was more than willing to try and save our marriage. Scratch that. I _have_ been trying to shake some fucking sense into you and make you see that—" Draco paused. "When it all boils down to it, your position at the Ministry is just a job. It's not your life or who you are. And I hope you come to your fucking senses before it's too late."

Hermione's voice wavered. "I-I have tried."

"No, you haven't," he told her hotly.

"You—"

"Just for once, open your eyes and be honest with yourself."

She numbly wrapped her arms around her stomach.

"You do such a wonderful job of blaming me, Hermione, but this isn't all about me. It's about you, too. You make it hard to live with you, and you make it next to impossible to love you. You—" he swallowed, "You don't need me, you don't need anyone, and that's fine. But don't lie to yourself. Don't—" he froze. She wasn't sure if it had been his intention to pause or if his voice had broken. He looked at her one last time before he walked out the room.

When the door slammed behind him, Hermione wanted to crumble, but didn't. Instead, she closed her eyes and tried to forget the look on Draco's face when he walked out, but couldn't. She'd never seen him look like that before. Angry. Dejected. Wounded.

And she was the cause. She had broken her husband.

"Give him some time to simmer," Ms Melonakos advised gently. "Angry people don't mean half of what they say. Promise."

"No—no offence, but I seriously doubt that." Hermione didn't realise she was crying until her voice broke and she felt the tears running down her chin. The counsellor offered a tissue, but she declined.

"Why don't you take a seat, have some baklava, and tell me what's on your mind."

Hermione couldn't even begin to formulate her thoughts. There was only one word she could even think of to describe a woman like her.

_Bitch._

And that night, Hermione didn't even try to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of JK Rowling. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


	4. April 17th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were clearly very good at not telling each other things. Or rather, maybe he'd said it and she just hadn't listened because it wasn't anything that she wanted to hear.

_I dreamed I was drowning in the river Thames_  
_I dreamed I had nothing at all, nothing but my own skin_  
_ I dreamed I was drifting on the howling wind_  
_ I dreamed I had nothing at all, nothing but my own skin_  
_ Slipped away from your open hand, into the river_  
_ Saw your face looking back at me_  
_ I saw my past and I saw my future_

_You take the pieces of the dreams that you have_  
_ 'Cause you don't like the way they seem to be going_  
_ You cut them up and spread them out on the floor_  
_ You're full of hope as you begin rearranging_  
_ Put it all back together, but any way you look at this_  
_ Looks like the lovers are losing_ **  
The Lovers Are Losing -Keane**

_ **April 17th** _

Hermione dreamed about bricks.

Or rather, one in particular.

It was tied to her, it clung to her, and it pulled her under the frigid water. No matter how much she fought to try to reach the surface, it just became heavier and heavier, until she felt herself start to drown, too. The brick wrapped its arms—yes, arms—around her, hugged her close, and suddenly, she was in its world. Its pain became her pain, and Hermione was just a sponge, absorbing everything.

She sank deeper and deeper into the waters, struggling and fighting, but once she freed herself of the brick, it dawned on her that the brick wasn't just a brick. It was a part of her, and the reason for her confusion.

Hermione was fighting to the surface, but at the same time, she could see the brick sinking. And she started to wonder why she couldn't pull the brick up with her? She didn't want to leave it behind. Letting go was a hard thing to do, especially when there were good memories involved. The brick, though heavy, had been good to her.

So, it left her with a conundrum. Should she let it sink to the bottom? Or, should she dive down and try to bring it to the surface with her? Should she fight to save it?

Deep in her heart, Hermione knew that nothing would change and the brick would bring her through that vicious cycle again. Or maybe she was the instigator. Maybe she had tied the brick around her ankle and jumped into the water. She wasn't sure. So, why couldn't she let it go? Why couldn't she let it sink? Maybe she cared too much, even if she didn't show it, even if the brick didn't think so.

Hermione looked up. She could see the light of the moon. Only a little further. This wasn't the time for it all to start getting personal, but it was. The brick was seducing her into destructive realisation. Hermione blamed the brick, the brick blamed her. She tried to accept what the brick had said to her, but the brick was sinking deeper and deeper, and would soon be forever lost to darkness….

And just like that, the brick was no longer a brick.

The brick was Draco.

_"This is your fault, Hermione. You're the reason I'm drowning."_

Hermione sat up in bed with a sharp gasp and looked around her old room. What time was it? She rolled to her side and answered her question. It was 5:43 in the morning. Perfect. She had just closed her eyes less than twenty minutes ago, and now she was wide awake. The witch sighed then decided that it would be best if she gave up on getting more than an hour of sleep.

She hadn't had much luck with that lately, and it was really starting to affect her.

Getting out of bed was always a battle in their—well, at Ginny's flat simply because their interpretation of the word 'cold' had always been different. Ginny's chilly was Hermione's frosty. Even when they had lived together, during the warmer months Ginny would turn the temperature down to near freezing at night. Hermione thought she had adapted to it, even though she hadn't lived with her for over four years. And, as a precaution, if she hadn't, the arsenal of blankets, socks, and heaters she had brought along would help.

However, the last four days had taught her that she had not adjusted.

Not at all.

After using her wand to summon the blanket that was draped on the settee across the room, it took a mental countdown from ten for Hermione to throw the covers off of her body and wrap the thick blanket tightly around her body. On the way out, she automatically grabbed her cigarettes and lighter off the dresser.

Oddly enough, she didn't realize they were in her hand until she reached for the door to Ginny's back porch with the same hand, causing them to fall to the floor.

_Weird_.

After debating for a moment, she picked them up and stepped outside.

Unsurprisingly, it was warmer outside and soon the blanket was quickly forgotten on one of Ginny's plastic patio chairs. Hermione's heart sank with a weight that it had never known. This wasn't just Ginny's back porch. At one time, it had been hers, too.

And—she looked around.

A lot had happened out here. Noteworthy things.

It was in those plastic chairs where Ginny tried to convince her to not start anything with Draco if she wasn't ready to _really_ commit. It was also in those chairs where Hermione had curtly said, _"Of course, I'm ready."_ It was at the railing where they'd had their second kiss … and third. And there—in the corner—was where she'd spent the early hours of her wedding morning writing her marriage vows with almost no difficulty.

This back porch held more significance in her life than she could've ever imagined.

And Hermione didn't know whether to be comforted or disturbed by the fact that she had, once again, found herself out here on another significant occasion. She found herself torn because of the memories that were slowly being awakened from their dormant state. She didn't want to go to the banister, didn't want to sit at the table, but had to do _something_. So, Hermione pulled a chair to the centre of the porch, sat, and watched as the sun began to rise over the horizon in a blaze of reds, oranges, and magentas.

It was breathtaking, but in that moment she felt alone, reflective, and utterly disconsolate. Almost as if it were second nature, Hermione began knocking her fresh pack of cigarettes against the heel of her hand. Then, she pulled off the cellophane wrapper and put it into the pockets of her pyjama pants to throw away later. She took one last look at the rising sun before she drew a fag from the middle and brought it to her lips.

Hermione sighed.

Between her dreams, the insomnia, the sudden onslaught of memories, and the long list of things that she needed to do today, she felt old. Very old. Old and worn out and tired. The feeling was fleeting, but strong enough to make Hermione shake her head to rid herself of it. She lit the cigarette in her hand and took a deep draw from it, pulling the smoke into her lungs and holding it there, holding her breath for as long as she could before exhaling. Her second sigh came moments later.

Was it possible to feel tired without actually _feeling_ tired? She rubbed her temple with her free hand. Yes, today was definitely going to be a very long day.

Because her senses were on such a high, Hermione heard the doorknob turn before she heard it open. She thought about putting out her fag, but decided against it. After all, she didn't want to waste a perfectly good cigarette and Ginny was used to the smell. She had picked up the habit after she and Harry had suddenly parted ways a few weeks before he submitted his application to the Department of Mysteries. In fact, now that Hermione thought about it, Ginny had picked up quite a few bad habits following her break-up with Harry. True, she had quit them all several months later, but it didn't—

"Coffee?"

The dishevelled Ginny stepped out onto the back porch with one levitating coffee cup in front of her and a bowl of cereal in her hand.

Coco Rocks, no doubt.

"Sure, thanks."

With a slow wave of her wand, the redhead carefully sent one cup towards Hermione. Then she tilted her head to the side, eyebrow cocked. "Since when did you start smoking?"

With a casual shrug, she grabbed the handle effortlessly with her free hand. "I only smoke on tough days. It helps. And today is going to be pretty rough. I'm going back to pick up my things." Hermione said softly. She was pretty sure—judging from the way he had stormed out of Ms Melonakos' office—Draco had packed everything up. Ginny, who had gone to pick up some of her clothes hours after the horrific counselling session, had assured her otherwise. But her mind was made up.

"But you smoke regularly."

"No, I don't," Hermione denied with a half-hearted huff, but took another long drag. She exhaled moments later, allowing the wind to carry her smoke away.

Ginny pulled the other chair next to Hermione's and sat down. "It's bad for you, but you already know that. You're the one who told _me_ that."

She frowned, but said nothing. What could she say to that? It was the truth. Hermione _had_ told her that, and she had also promptly helped her quit. But it was different this time, or at least that was what Hermione thought. This wasn't a habit; just something she did to help with the stress.

It was nothing. Nothing at all.

Ginny summoned the ashtray on the table and handed it to her.

The silence that had come next was a bit tense, but she had no intention of interrupting. Ginny alternated between eating and watching her, Hermione alternated between smoking and thinking, and they both watched the sun rise in a troubled peace.

To her annoyance, it ended much too soon.

Rather than ending with words, it ended with a look; a look from Ginny when she put out one cigarette only to reach for another. Hermione hated it when someone tried to look concerned and sympathetic. Of course, she was grateful for the thought, but it was the worst thing to look over and see.

"What, Ginny?" she huffed, reaching for her lighter.

The redhead took the fag from her mouth and before Hermione could protest, she silenced her with a stern look. "People who have smoking problems tend to smoke more than one in a single sitting, but _you_ say you don't have a problem."

Hermione frowned. "Why are you up so early? You don't have practice today."

"Why are you evading the topic?"

"I really am not in the mood to be patronised."

"I'm not patronising you, Hermione. I'm trying to help."

"Well, you're not helping," she argued moodily.

Ginny sighed. "Of course, you don't need my help. You can do everything by yourself. You don't need anyone for anything."

Those familiar words hurt a little more than she expected. "I never said that."

"But you sure do act like it!"

Frustration was etched in her brow and voice when she asked, "What is this? Point-out-Hermione's-flaws month? First Draco, now—"

"Malfoy? What did he say?"

"A lot," she grimaced painfully. "Too much." Nothing that she wanted to hear.

It would've been easy to just recount the entire conversation. It had, after all, been on constant replay in her mind for the last four days. There had been something in the words, something in his eyes, and something about the cleverly hidden pain etched in his voice that had made her feel very small then.

And that feeling hadn't gone away.

_"Just so we're clear, I was more than willing to try and save our marriage."_

It had taken fifteen mental replays for her to see that those words had been spoken with a harshness that bellowed his sincerity. _His sincerity._ What else had he been sincere about?

The thought made her head spin.

_"You make it hard to live with you, and you make it next to impossible to love you."_

Hermione suddenly felt her heart pounding mercilessly against her ribcage because she was finally starting to take a step outside of herself, and she wasn't pleased with what she saw. It hurt, but her head was hurting worse.

_"You don't need me, you don't need anyone, and that's fine. But don't lie to yourself."_

That last sentence had stayed one step behind her, and she had spent the last few days running, engrossing herself in work just so she wouldn't slow down long enough to really think about those words. But it was Saturday, and now she couldn't run. And she caught herself wondering if he was right.

Was this her fault? Was she responsible for the demise of her marriage? Was she lying to herself? Did she need to open her eyes?

Her hands started shaking and her stomach started churning. She was going to be sick. Instead of running into the flat, she snatched her cigarettes back from Ginny and went on a fishing expedition into her pockets for her lighter.

"Herm—" she clasped her hand around her wrist.

"Don't—" The lighter wasn't working. She tried and tried, with no avail, to make it work. Tears of frustration rapidly built behind her eyes. "Don't—"

"You're shaking," Ginny noted with worry in her eyes. "You're having a panic attack."

Hermione ignored her, still trying to make the lighter work. She couldn't stand it when she looked at her like that; all sad and worried for her. It made her feel like shit. It made her feel sad and pathetic. It made her feel like the type of person who needed that brand of saccharine, mothering sympathy from someone.

Well, Hermione _wasn't_ that person and she didn't appreciate being made to feel like that person. Now, if she could catch her breath, force her heart to stop racing, compel her hands quit shaking, and make the damn lighter work, she could tell her best friend to stop treating her like some China doll.

"Stop," the redhead told her calmly. "Let me help you. For once, let _someone_ help you."

Hermione resisted. "I can do this!"

Ginny wrestled the lighter from her trembling fingers and snatched the cigarettes from between her lips. Where the witch put them, she couldn't see, but it wasn't because she didn't try.

Try.

_"I only came today to try and convince you that you were making a mistake…"_

"I'm fine." Hermione was lying. She knew she was. It was getting more and more difficult to speak. She screamed at herself to stop thinking, but it was senseless to try. _Try_. She had tried, right? Hermione remembered all the times she tried, she remembered them vividly, but it was clear that something was wrong.

Maybe, like her and Ginny's definition of 'cold', maybe she and Draco had a different definition of 'try'. Maybe she thought she'd been trying when she really hadn't. Or maybe she hadn't tried when it really counted. Like—like the night of the storm. She didn't even fight him; she turned over, cried herself to sleep, and ran to her solicitor the first moment she got. _He_ had been trying, and she had gone and snuffed the last flicker of hope out of their marriage.

She had done it.

Not him.

"Her—"

"I'm fine."

Only she wasn't.

She was quite far from fine. She hadn't tried. She hadn't fought. She hadn't even _stayed_.

"You're not fine," the redhead argued, pulling on her hand in an attempt to get her out of the chair. Hermione wouldn't budge. She didn't trust her legs. She didn't trust her head. She didn't trust anything. The second tug made Ginny's hand slide right through hers. "Fuck, you're sweating. Come on, let's—fuck this, I can't move you, so, erm, breathe? Right? I think that's what mum says when we're panicking. Yeah, just breathe. Just breathe."

If only it were that easy.

"Is this helping?" she cursed and answered her own question, "Of course this isn't helping! Shit. I can't breathe, either! I'm not cut out for this!" Ginny grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her hard.

When she met the other witch's panicked eyes, Hermione painfully realised that the old man in the waiting area had been right. Ms Melonakos had been right. Ginny had been right.

And she had been so very wrong.

* * *

"Are you sure you're going to be okay to do this?" Ginny asked her later on that afternoon when she joined her at the small kitchen table.

Hermione looked up from her cup of coffee; her body and mind were currently at war for dominance. Her body was still asleep, but her mind was wide awake. Ginny's cure for a panic attack had been to freak out and shove Draught of Peace down her throat. It had been a temporary cure for a deeper problem. She'd slept the day away, but her problems were waiting for her when she returned to the land of consciousness.

"I have to do this sometime, I guess."

She must've looked horrible because the concern never left Ginny's face. "It's okay, you know, to take your time. I don't think there's any rush. Why don't we just go over there tomorrow?"

"We?"

"Think I'm letting you do this alone? Fat chance."

"It would be best … if I just shut up." Because Ginny's eyes had started to narrow and really, she was being an ungrateful friend—scratch that, person. This morning's panic attack had opened Hermione's eyes to what she'd been blind to for—well, forever. She had a skewed vision of the world where everything and everybody was black and white, wrong or right. There was no in-between. But now—now there were shades of grey popping up everywhere, and she had to investigate.

It was in her nature.

"Exactly," Ginny smile slowly faded, "Are you sure you don't want to take your time with it? You're still going through the grieving process. It would be understandable if you weren't ready for it yet." Her friend considered herself to be something of an expert in break-ups simply because her break-up with Harry had been so awful.

Nevertheless, someone needed to give her a book deal: Ginny seemed to have a real clear picture of Hermione's feelings. Grief. Not the kind she felt when Crookshanks died. Or maybe it was exactly that. She was essentially losing someone that had been a part of her. And on top of that, she was moving out of her home—_their home._

Hermione waited until she trusted her voice before answering, "It's okay. I'm up for it."

* * *

Only she wasn't.

Or at least not as ready as she had previously thought.

Hermione stepped into their bedroom.

Ginny was right, again. He hadn't haphazardly thrown her things into boxes. In fact, it looked as though she had never left. It was—Hermione didn't know quite how to feel about that so she discarded the thought and took another step into the room.

It was amazing how the smell of her had gone so quickly from their room. It was crazy, but Hermione could always smell the difference between her and Draco. And it wasn't anything obvious like perfume verses cologne. It was just a subtle scent that they had left behind. She could breathe it in and just _know_ where she was. It wasn't overwhelming, just noticeably … them. Draco's cologne was always faint yet familiar; she wasn't used to her own scent and had never noticed it until it was mixed into his.

She looked around.

Draco had always been extremely tidy—almost freakishly so, but it was the thing she liked most about him. He never minded working up a serious sweat while playing Quidditch, but he _definitely_ minded staying that way. More than once, Draco had come in from a game and Hermione would get worked up at just the sight of him. However, before she had the opportunity to act, he would insist on either showering before sex or having sex _in_ the shower. It always led to an argument because Draco never quite understood that it was the hot and sweaty part that was the turn on.

And perhaps she had never really learned the art of compromise.

Hermione sighed and opened her suitcase. It was time to get to work, at least while she had the house to herself. Ginny was currently downstairs keeping watch. She had to do this alone.

Strangely enough, her previous thoughts continued to follow her.

Smells, body parts, and sex seemed kind of a strange thing to think about when standing in their walk-in closet pulling jumpers and shirts off hangers and rummaging through the lone junk drawer for her favourite wand holster, but it was all Hermione thought about.

Sex had never been an issue. It was generally pretty good, but sometimes she felt like he hadn't quite noticed what she was hinting at or what it was that was the turn on. Sometimes, the focus wasn't right. Hermione would be lying if she said that Draco was a bad lover, but on more than a few occasions, he didn't pick the signals up quite properly—or maybe she hadn't been communicating them correctly. She didn't know. Maybe Draco had had a similar issue with her, but he'd never said anything. How could she know if he—

Hermione frowned.

Pot, meet kettle.

They were clearly very good at not telling each other things. Or rather, maybe he'd said it and she just hadn't listened because it wasn't anything that she wanted to hear.

"Need any help?"

The sound of Draco's voice made Hermione jump and quickly turn. He looked the same, just like her husband—apart from the fact that he would no longer be her husband as soon as the papers were signed. It felt like she hadn't seen him in ages, but it had only been a few days. Four, to be exact. His face wasn't as tense as it had been in Ms Melonakos' office. It wasn't nearly as pained, either. Still didn't help rid her mind of the memories.

Or his words.

"No—no, I think I got it."

Gods, this was awkward.

"Did you—did you just get here?" Draco's big nervous habit was scratching the nape of his neck, and Hermione felt some shameful satisfaction that her presence bothered him on some level. Because his was definitely bothering her.

"Been here for a little while," she answered, shifting from foot to food as if she were on hot coals. "Did you see Ginny downstairs?"

"Oh, yes. Blaise is down there, too. You know how that's going," he said with a roll of his eyes.

Hermione shook her head with him because she knew. Blaise was his normal cool and calm self, probably chatting her up about Quidditch or their mutual love of Coco Rocks and Halloween. Ginny, on the other hand, was more than likely trying to remain charming, but was probably flushed and stumbling over her words a bit. It all would've been endearing … had they not been dancing around each other for three solid years. "Think they'll ever get it together?"

"Perhaps."

During the silence, Hermione watched Draco rub his hands anxiously. She had a particularly graphic flashback to him rubbing her skin, which was rather odd because in the last few months they hadn't stopped being at each other's throats long enough to even go there.

"You know," he started, "I talked to Portbeagle and since it's an uncontested divorce, he went ahead and put a rush on the papers. He said that I should get them in two to four weeks."

That soon? A hollow feeling settled into her bones. "Oh, okay then."

Draco looked away, then back at her. "You can stay here. I can go stay at the Manor with my parents."

"No, no—I—I think I'm going to stay with Ginny. Besides, I think your parents would think it odd if you were to suddenly start living at—"

"I told them … everything."

Hermione blinked. "E-everything? About us?"

Draco nodded. "Well, I told my mother, who more than likely told my father."

"Well, how—how did she take it? What was her reaction?"

"She walked out of the room."

Hermione paled and her heart sank to her knees. "Oh." Well, at least she had been right about that. "I don't understand why you told her in the first place."

"It certainly hadn't been my intention. After I left the … session, I had dinner at the Manor with Mother and, well, she asked where you were and I just started talking."

"And afterwards, she just left?"

"I imagine it was a lot to take in."

_True._

They stood like that for what seemed like forever until Draco gestured to her suitcase. "Are you nearly finished?"

It startled Hermione into action; she bent over and zipped the bag. "Oh! Yes. I'm just about done."

"I can carry it—"

"No, I think—"

"—for you?"

She looked around their bedroom for one last time before she took a deep breath and agreed. It wasn't long before she was following him downstairs and into the sitting room where Blaise and Ginny were chatting. They both looked up when they came into the room. Ginny's cheeks were pink. Hermione and Blaise exchanged cordial greetings and small talk, but soon enough Ginny was saying her goodbyes and stepping into the Floo.

Hermione watched her friend disappear in a burst of green flames before she looked over at Draco. It was hard for her, but she opened her eyes and _really_ looked at him in that moment … and was confused by what she saw. There was regret, sadness, and several other emotions that he hid behind his calm demeanour.

Blaise excused himself, leaving them alone … with her luggage.

He waited until she was in the Floo before he handed her the small suitcase.

"You know, I—" Draco sighed. "I'm shit at apologies."

"You don't have to apologise to me." Hermione smiled sadly. "Not when…." she trailed off; her stubborn pride didn't allow her to say the rest.

Unspoken words and apologies were not a new thing for them. However, when she dropped the handful of Floo powder and called out Ginny's address, she couldn't help but wonder what would happen if she could just swallow her pride and say three little words she wanted—no, _needed_—to say to him.

And that night, Hermione paced the width of her room with those words heavy on her mind:

_I was wrong._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of JK Rowling. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


	5. April 23rd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All that is true," they stopped at the door leading into the brain room, "but did you ever think that maybe he decided to quit in order to get his priorities in order?"
> 
> "What priorities?" She hated being confused.
> 
> Blaise just smirked, patted her shoulder, and said something quite ominous: "You should try doing the same."

_So this is strange_   
_ Our sidestepping has come to be a brilliant dance_   
_ Where nobody leads at all, where nobody leads at all._

_And the picture frames are facing down_   
_ And the ringing from this empty sound_   
_ Is deafening and keeping you from sleep._   
_ And breathing is a foreign task_   
_ And thinking's just too much to ask_   
_ And you're measuring your minutes by a clock that's blinking eights._ **  
The Brilliant Dance - Dashboard Confessional**

_ ** _April 23rd_ ** _

Someone else was sitting in Draco's place this morning.

Not just anyone—a witch; a pale blonde witch that Hermione had seen in the cafeteria from time to time, but had never actually spoken to. She'd gone to have a quick word with the Time Room's supervisor, Ezra Broughton. And when Hermione was leaving, she just so happened to glance in the direction of his work area and had done a double take when she saw _her_. Hermione couldn't help herself … she _had_ to know who this woman was and why she was sitting in Draco's work space.

Her name was Katerina _'please call me Katka'_ Nikitin, or so she had politely introduced herself in a slight Russian accent. She seemed nice and eager to please on her very first day, but Hermione she couldn't seem to force herself to stop looking at Katka with mild scepticism. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Katka. So, how did you end—?"

"Malfoy quit," drawled a familiar voice from behind.

Hermione looked over her shoulder then up slightly at Blaise. What in the world was he doing here? He worked in the Hall of Prophecy with Harry. And what was he saying? Draco quit?

She snorted, "He wouldn't."

That, she knew for a fact.

"Alas, he isn't here. Not even you can explain that away, Granger."

She never did care for his particular brand of sarcasm and because of that, she ignored him. "So, Katka," Hermione turned to the blonde who was sort of leering at Blaise. She was convinced that Ginny would've tackled Katka if she had seen that particular look. Or at least hexed her. "Where are you coming to us from?"

"I worked in the Hall of Prophecy for a long time. This is my dream job. I put in for the position last year. I was ecstatic when I heard that the last Unspeakable was offered a position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation and that I would be replacing him."

"Oh, that's nice," Hermione replied slightly dryly. Her mind was working double time. "Was it sudden?"

"Oh no, he trained me for the last three months."

_"I only came in to do some training."_

_"Training? Are you all getting a new Unspeakable in the Time Room?"_

_He nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, "Or something like that."_

She paled at the memory, torn between being angry and hurt. Three months?! Why didn't he tell her? Why did he feel the need to hide this from her? She could've stopped him. He didn't have to quit his job! Hermione knew how much he loved it.

Katka had a very 'Luna Lovegood' look on her face when she said, "He's very—"

"Yes," she rolled her eyes, "I know, _attractive_." Every witch in the department—hell, the Ministry—thought that about Draco. It was rather annoying, but unlike Draco, she wasn't the least bit jealous. He wasn't the type to be unfaithful.

And neither was she.

"I was actually going to say meticulous."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Oh." An awkward moment passed where Katka stared at her with annoyance, Blaise did everything to contain his laughter, and Hermione took to looking around the room. Finally, she squared her shoulders. "I should go. I have a lot to do. Pleasure to meet you, Katka." The witch nodded, less enthused, and went back to setting up her work area. Hermione looked over, "Blaise."

The wizard smirked, "Would you like me to escort to the Brain Room?"

"Yes. I have a few questions for you."

"Naturally."

Hermione waited until they were out of the Time room and halfway to the Brain Room when she tightly asked, "Did you know about Draco's plans to quit?"

"Yes."

And that hurt more. "When did you find out?"

"He told me at end of last year."

The end of last year? She nearly stumbled. "But—but why didn't he tell me? Why did he feel the need to do all this behind my back?"

"What would you have done if he had come to you? And be honest."

Of course she was going to be honest! "I would've convinced him to stay. I—"

"And that, right there, is why he didn't tell you." Blaise cut her off abruptly, but somehow he managed to do it politely. It still grated her nerves though. "Ever thought that this change is something that he actually wants?"

Hermione blinked. "Draco loves his job. He always has. So no, I don't think this is something that he wants."

"All that is true," they stopped at the door leading into the brain room, "but did you ever think that _maybe_ he decided to quit in order to get his priorities in order?"

"What priorities?" She hated being confused.

Blaise just smirked, patted her shoulder, and said something quite ominous: "You should try doing the same." Then he turned and walked—or rather swaggered—away. Hermione stared after him just a moment before she shook her head, pushed the door open, and walked in.

He may have been Draco's best mate, but Blaise Zabini was a strange, strange wizard.

Zacharias was sitting in their work area, busy stirring the small cauldron on their table with his wand and watching as spiralling steam rose from his cauldron. She hadn't been able to explore her idea—much less do research on it—because the entire department had been busy brewing Amortentia non-stop to replace the enormous amount that had been spilled. Quite tedious, but it was for the good of the Department. Amortentia was used to test the effects of love on certain forms of magic. It wasn't as good as the actual emotion, but it served its purpose for clinical trials.

Hermione stood next to her partner and watched him stir. One clockwise stir, then one anti-clockwise. Not exactly what she would've done—too jerky for her tastes—but it seemed to work nonetheless. She watched just a bit longer before she started adding Ashwinder eggs to the potion.

Finally. Something normal, routine, and uncomplicated.

"How are you this morning?" Zacharias asked without looking up.

She opened her mouth to reply, as usual, but there was something nagging her. Draco had said—Hermione shook her head. Draco was utterly jealous … and for no reason. "Not bad. You?"

"Glad to be here."

His answer, in the year that they'd been working together, had not changed and for the first time, it bothered her. "Why?"

Zacharias looked over at her, eyebrow raised. "Why what?"

"Why are you glad to be here?"

He smiled and opened his mouth to reply, but his cauldron hissed softly and that diverted his attention from Hermione. "It's finished. Now we have to let it cool."

"Great. We should start another. It'll take all day, I'm sure."

And she was looking forward to it. The news of Draco quitting his job was distressing enough and it really was taking her everything to not think about it or him. But—she took a silent deep breath—she could do this. It would be easy to focus her attention on something else besides the fact that the man she married hadn't really talked to her for a very long time. So work was an excellent distraction from the nagging—and painful—question that was whizzing around in her head: When did Draco stop trusting her?

Hermione's frown deepened and tried again to push the thought from her mind.

"Did you hear the news?" Zacharias asked rather suddenly.

"What?"

"Draco Malfoy quit."

She tried to look surprised, but it came off as very strained and contrived—at least to her, it did. "I've heard," and then she added a slightly awkward, "Strange, huh?"

"Not for me, it isn't," Zacharias sat down and pilfered through an open book. "I knew the tosser didn't have it in him to stick to something for the long haul. It was only a matter of time, I think. Rumour has it that he quit because of some witch." Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but he didn't notice. "He clearly needs to get his priorities together."

_"Did you ever think that maybe he decided to quit in order to get his priorities in order?"_

Hermione paled.

"There are _always_ other witches."

True, but Draco was—her stomach turned. She finally knew what the vague Blaise Zabini was talking about. Draco had quit for her— wait _them_. Oh gods, he really _had been_ trying! She gripped on to the arms of her chair so tight that her knuckles turned white. How had she missed it?

_"And just so we're clear, I was more than willing to try and save our marriage. Scratch that. I have been trying to shake some fucking sense into you and make you see that—"_

It was right there. In her face. And still, she'd missed it … and him.

"What do you think about that, Hermione?" Zacharias asked.

She didn't have an answer.

* * *

It was quickly turning into the day from hell.

Hermione's mind wasn't on her work, and it was starting to show. Spilled potions, errors, accidents, confusion, and stares.

She was losing her grip.

"Do you need a minute?"

Hermione lifted her head from her notes to shoot Zacharias an unpleasant glare. "No," she told him bossily, "I'm perfectly fine. I don't need—"

"You've been off your game all day, Hermione, and I'm not only one who has noticed." He put his hand on her knee. Her eyes widened because—well, his inappropriate touch had left her speechless. "Why don't you take a few minutes," he squeezed her knee. "Walk around," he looked at her. "Maybe, we could have lunch and talk about your idea—"

She pushed his hand off her knee and stood abruptly. "No thank you. I'm going to lunch with Harry."

Zacharias looked disappointed and the alarm bells—where in the _hell_ had they been all these months?—were ringing so loudly in her head that it was giving her a headache.

"Oh? Well, maybe I could join?" he suggested.

"_…to punch that sodding wanker, Smith, in the throat every time he makes cow eyes at you—"_

"Erm, Harry isn't all that comfortable with me bringing just anyone to lunch." It was a lame excuse, but all she had.

To her surprise, he understood, but just when she relaxed, he said, "It would be nice to hear your ideas about our new project over lunch."

Hermione just knew that Zacharias was going to add, _"and see Harry, too"_ but he never did. Instead he just sat there with a strange look on his face.

_"…cow eyes…"_

"Back in two minutes." And she left the Brain Room as fast as her legs could carry her.

Two minutes. She had two minutes to regain her composure and lose the mood. Two minutes to get her crap together, push Draco's words out of her head, so she wasn't being so obvious about how uncomfortable she suddenly was. Two minutes to stop cursing at herself for not seeing what Draco had been seeing for months. Really, it had to be a crime to be this oblivious! Hermione ran straight out of the Department of Mysteries, which probably earned her some strange looks, but she didn't care. She had to get out of there. Hermione pushed the button to the lift, and to her surprise, it opened automatically.

And it was empty.

She didn't wait before she pushed the button that shut the doors immediately. And as she calmed her breathing, Hermione forced herself to remember that she was a professional. A goddamned good one and she knew better than to let anything get in the way of her work.

But it was becoming surprisingly clear that something had.

And Hermione's day was officially blown when the lift stopped on floor five, the doors opened, and her _something_ stood on the other side, waiting to step in. Their eyes met briefly, but she looked away and down at her feet. Draco's eyes never left her. She could feel them. And yet, he didn't step into the lift. The doors started to close, but he stopped them with his hand … and still didn't make a move to step in.

It was odd.

Everything was odd.

Hermione finally lifted her head, "Are you going to get on or wait for the next?" Her voice sounded odd, even to her.

Draco never answered her question. He just stepped into the lift and allowed the doors to shut.

As the lift made its slow ascent, she snuck a few glances in his direction.

Odd.

It was odd to see him in regular robes and not Unspeakable robes, odd to see him waiting for the lift on the fifth floor and not the ninth, odd to walk into the Time Room and not see him working….

Odd to wake up in the mornings without him lying beside her.

She'd been trying her best to ignore those feelings, but now that he was standing next to her, just out of reach, it was hard … harder than she could have ever anticipated. The lift smelled like Draco's cologne. Not in an overpowering way, but it was noticeable. And that wasn't new to her. His scent always lingered wherever he went and his scent, she realised, was imprinted on her olfactory nerves. Two days ago, she had been in the Apothecary with Ginny and smelled it. Without a thought, Hermione had swivelled her head looking for him to be standing there, just out of reach.

But that didn't bother her as much as the feeling that accompanied it did.

Their marriage was ending, and soon it wouldn't matter. But in that moment, Hermione had wanted to see him there.

Wanted.

It was becoming alarmingly clear that she had no idea what she truly wanted. Her mind said that they were over, but her heart was incredibly stubborn…

"You must be on a short break."

She looked over at him. "Why do you say that?"

"You're riding the lift. You tend to do that when you don't have enough time to do something useful."

Hermione said nothing. Her chest felt tight.

"How have you been?" Draco's question and his body were unusually stiff.

She hated it—the awkwardness.

But what Hermione hated most was that he was standing there, trying to make conversation with her as if she were a stranger. And it hurt her that, outside of fighting, that was exactly how they'd been talking to each other for at least the last six months. Hermione missed the things they used to talk about. She missed their banter and the ease she always felt around him. She missed …

Well, she missed _him_.

They might not have been on the same page for a long time, but Hermione missed how she felt when they were. She missed how she felt, period. With the anger and resentment gone, she just felt … sad that they had come to this. And then she felt guilty for the fact that she had played a major part in pushing him out of the door.

Her thoughts started swirling.

Once the papers were signed, she would have to move forward, and a growing part of her was beginning to dread it. Their marriage, though it made her want to pull at her hair, made her feel comfortable. Secure. _Loved_.

She paled.

Pretty soon, those feelings would be gone … and so would Draco.

And where would that leave her? With her career, her friends, and her parents. She had a life, a future, but—Hermione wasn't sure if she was ready to move forward as a divorced witch. She wasn't even ready to acknowledge the truth that their future encounters would be like this.

"Well?" he inquired after she didn't answer. "How have you been?"

And, in that moment, she wanted to divulge everything that had been weighing heavily on her heart, but again, the words remained frozen on her tongue. Instead, Hermione shrugged, "I'd be lying if I said I was fine."

He said nothing.

The lift stopped on the sixth floor and opened, but there was no one there.

When the doors closed, Draco asked, "Think the Ministry will ever put up the Galleons to make this thing run faster?" It was his attempt at breaking the ice, but Hermione couldn't help but feel odd—and incredibly sad.

"Probably not."

Silence settled between them until they both started talking at the same time.

"Hermione, I—"

"Why—"

They froze.

"You first," Draco flexed his hands.

"Why didn't you tell me that you were quitting?" She wanted it to come out a little angrier than that, but she couldn't force herself to feel that way.

He stiffened. "I didn't think I could."

"Since when have you not been able to tell me somethi—" Hermione froze as wave after wave of fresh memories crashed into her. Draco had been trying to tell her a lot, but she hadn't been listening. "Oh."

The lift stopped on the seventh floor.

"I didn't feel like arguing with you about it."

"I know I would've argued about your decision, but only because I _know_ how much you love your job."

"Remember what I said in the counsellor's office. It's just a job. There are more important things."

Her heart started racing. That was in present tense. "Are?"

Draco seemed to understand where she was going with her questions and quickly set her straight. "I told you, Hermione. I'm done fighting for you. It's time—"

"I know," she cut him off before he could say another word. This hurt a lot more than it should. "I understand that it's too late." She wanted to be angry, she really did, but she couldn't be angry at him. Only at herself for not listening to him sooner. "I—this is awkward."

He snorted, "Understatement of the year."

After a quick silence, Hermione sighed, "I don't know what to say to you anymore." That was almost a lie because there were still a lot of things she wanted to say, but her pride….

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but the lift stopped on the eighth floor. "This is me."

"Oh."

She expected him to walk out without looking back, but he didn't move at first. "How much longer are you going to ride the lift?"

"What?"

"I noticed you didn't press a button."

"Oh," she shook her head, "I'm going back to the Department of Mysteries now before I go to lunch with Harry." It was a long shot, and Hermione had no idea why she was asking, but she couldn't stop herself, "Are you going to be there?"

"No, I—I have some things to tend to."

And as he walked out the lift, Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that he was lying to her.

* * *

While waiting at the Apparition point for the ever-late Harry, Hermione stood just off the sidewalk, lit a cigarette, and took a deep draw on it. She pulled the smoke into her lungs, held it there, and held her breath. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but it was no use. She was more restless than ever.

And she had Draco to blame.

She exhaled, letting her smoke blow away in the gentle breeze.

That wasn't fair or true, but it was a lot easier to blame him for everything. It always had been, and maybe that was why she had taken to doing it as often as possible. Gods, that wasn't true either. There had been a point when she truly thought he was wrong. Not her, just him. He was the one who never stayed and fought, he was the one who always walked away, and he was the one who—Hermione shifted uncomfortably. He was the one who was trying. Well, she had, too. Right? What had she done again?

Oh! There was the time that she…no.

Bugger.

Well, there was definitely the time that she…again, no.

Hermione paled. What had she done? Draco had quit his job, moved to another department, tried to talk to her, and suggested that they go public … what had she done to try to save her, _their_ marriage?

_Absolutely nothing._

No, that wasn't right.

Surely, there was something that she'd done!

It was at that moment when Harry decided to make his appearance with a sharp, "What the hell are you doing?"

She froze mid-drag and turned to Harry, who was regarding her with a look of confusion. What exactly did he want her to say? It wasn't what it looked like? But it was _exactly_ what it looked like. No point in lying. Not when she was having a smoke, her third of the day … not that she was counting or anything. Hermione reluctantly dropped and stepped on her cigarette. "Spare me the lecture, Harry. I get the third degree from Ginny about it constantly."

Harry looked at her just a little longer before he led the way to their favourite restaurant, but she had a feeling that it wasn't over. It wasn't like Harry to let go of something so quickly.

She changed the subject. "What made you late today?"

"I had to go Van's school," he replied with a shake of his head, but Hermione could tell that he was amused. She often wondered how Harry managed everything with a smile on his face.

He'd been through hell and back ever since he and Pansy announced that not only were they together, but they also were getting married _and_ expecting a child. He didn't have to marry her, and Hermione implored him to see his options. Pansy had been less than thrilled with the idea of marriage and spent months in denial about her pregnancy, but Harry wasn't deterred. With an exorbitant amount of maturity, patience, and determination, he managed to convince Pansy that they could work it out … together.

They married quickly and Silvanus was born eight months later. It hadn't been easy for them. Hermione witnessed their struggles with being married, raising a child, and dealing with the relentless media. But somehow they had survived this long, even with all the obstacles in front of them.

"Didn't he just start at this school? What happened?"

"Oh, the usual. Pansy wouldn't leave."

Pansy, to everyone's surprise, had become an excellent mother. Van was a delightful and shy three-year-old, who liked Quidditch and riding on George Weasley's shoulders. Sure, she was overprotective and slightly neurotic, but she loved her son … and husband.

"Seriously? That's twice this week!" she shook her head, "Think she has a touch of Separation Anxiety?"

Harry opened the door to the restaurant for her. "I'm actually positive that she has it, but I'm not sure who has it more: her or Van. Though, after today, she has taken a slight lead." And, with another chuckle, he left her side to speak with the young hostess. Soon, they were sitting at a table by the window. After ordering their food, Harry took a drink of his water and cleared his throat. "So, when did it start?"

She blinked. "What?"

Harry had become a master of changing the topic. She blamed all the interviews that he'd given. The instant they brought up Van or Pansy, Harry would expertly change the topic. Eventually they learned. "The smoking."

Hermione, who was in the middle of drinking, took a few extra swigs before she sat down her water and replied with a shrug, "Not too long ago. It calms me down. Don't worry about me."

"But I do. All the time." Harry stared at her with intense eyes, "Are you okay?"

She sighed, "I'm—"

"The truth."

"Not good," Hermione blurted out, feeling days of tension flooding from her with those two words. "I'm terrible, actually. I feel like a terrible person. Draco seems to be taking all this in stride, while I'm falling apart at the seams." She was expecting a bit of comfort, but got a snort instead. "You wanted me to be honest and yet you snor—"

"Malfoy is _not_ taking this in stride."

That certainly was news to her. "What?"

Harry made a face and straightened his glasses. "Just what I said. I mean," he ran a hand through his messy hair, "He's taking this as well as someone who had a divorce dumped on them—"

"I didn't—" she froze, "I mean, I didn't mean to—" she lowered her head, took a breath, and began again, "I thought that a divorce was what _he_ was suggesting when he said we needed to seek 'other alternatives'. I didn't know that he meant marriage counselling! We'd had this terrible fight about something I can't even remember and he left and—"

"I know."

That made her pause. "What?"

"Malfoy came to my house."

Hermione's eyes widened. "He what?"

"Yeah, he came to talk to Pansy. He always does. I overheard some of the conversation and—I swear she has eyes in the back of her head because she knew I was there and asked me to come in."

She leaned forward with interest, "And then?"

"Well, before I walked in, he was saying something about how it wouldn't be much longer before the biggest obstacle was out of his way, but he didn't know what to do right then. Pansy and I are in therapy and we suggested it to him; even gave him the name of our therapist. Ms Melonakos is one of the best in the city. I told him it was a good idea, that it may help flesh out some of your issues, and—well, that's it. Pansy told him to go home and—_really_—talk to you, and I gave him a shot of Firewhisky because I _knew_ he was going to need it."

Hermione frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

To which he replied with a soft chuckle, "Have you ever tried to have a conversation with yourself?"

"Of course not, Harry," she scoffed, "Why would—?"

"You're one of the most impossible people to talk to, especially when you have your mind made up about something."

This was the third time that someone had said those words—more or less—to her in the last two and a half weeks. Once was a fluke, twice was a coincidence, but three times…even a rational being like Hermione couldn't ignore that. She took a deep breath. "Well, I'm listening now."

"That's a start, but I think you should talk now … tell your side of things because I've heard Malfoy's via Pansy."

Her side? Well, that was a little more convoluted than it had been in the past few weeks. "I really don't know what to say. So many things have changed."

"Well, tell me how you felt three weeks ago?"

Hermione quirked a brow. "Thinking of a career in therapy, Harry?"

"Of course not, but after two years of weekly sessions, it grows on you."

She sat there for a minute. "Does it work?"

"Obviously. Pansy and I are very happy."

"Do you, erm, ever forget why you married her?"

"Sometimes I think I do, but I don't think I truly have. Sometimes I get so angry at her that I think 'why did I marry her, again? Why did I put myself in this situation?' But when I look at her, I'm reminded all over again." Harry looked at her inquisitively, "Why do you ask?"

"Because I can't, for the life of me, remember why I married Draco."

"You know." At the disbelieving look on her face, he smiled. "You really do know. It's simple, really. Why you married someone is not simply something that someone just up and forgets. You just need to stop being so angry, stop blaming him, and _really_ think about it."

"I don't think it's that easy. When you've been fighting as long as we have—"

"Whose fault is that, Hermione?"

"I'm not the only one in the marriage, Harry," she fired back testily. "Draco—"

"You blame him a lot. I know … I listen to the things you say when he's not around. But what have you done to stop the fights? What have you done, period?"

And she was back to that question, again.

Gods, and now it was time to answer it. What _had_ she done? Hermione pondered for a few minutes, racking her brain for something, but all she could remember was the times that she cut him off, yelled at him, and shot him down. But she had also …. "Well, I've stayed. When we fight, I at least stay to finish it. Draco leaves. He always leaves."

Harry drank more of his water before he said, "I used to do that to Pansy, but not anymore."

"Why? Why did you walk away, and why did you stop?"

"I walked away because I needed the space. And one time, she came after me and told me that she hated when I walked away because it made her feel like I didn't care. That it made her feel like she was the only one who cared about making our marriage work. And—"

"Exactly!"

"Well, have you ever gone after him? Have you ever demanded that he stay and talk? Have you ever told him how you felt?"

No. No. No.

Had she ever done anything at all?

No … except watch him from the window and blame him.

"He's not a seer, you know? You have to tell him. You can't just assume that he knows how you feel."

She sighed, "It's too late for all that now. He wants the divorce."

He looked a bit surprised, and Hermione wondered why. "When did he tell you that?"

"At the end of the counselling session, right before he walked out."

Harry leaned back in his chair. "Ever thought he only said that out of anger?"

"I saw the look on his face. He was serious."

"Did you ask him? Did you sit him down and ask if he still wanted the divorce? Hermione, have you even fought with him about this? You fight about everything else. Why haven't you fought about this?"

She felt overwhelmed by his questions and couldn't get a single answer out. "I—"

"Maybe this would be a good time to swallow your pride and fight him. I know you don't want this divorce. You wouldn't be 'falling apart at the seams' if you did. So take a stand, show him that you give a damn … _fight._"

Their lunch arrived and nothing further was said until after Harry paid the cheque and they were walking back to the Apparition point.

"You know, I think everything's going to be fine."

Hermione frowned. "I think you've been working in the Hall of Prophecy for too long."

Harry smiled. "Perhaps, or maybe I know more than you think." He paused. "You should know that it takes some major guts to put it all out on the line like that. I mean, how he did it in the counsellor's office."

"He was under the influence of—"

"I know the circumstances. You wouldn't believe the things I've told Pansy under the influence of Verisimilimist, but that doesn't mean it's not the truth." He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "I still think you should talk to Malfoy—_really_ talk to him about the divorce."

"And say what?" she asked in a huff. "'Draco, I was wrong and I'm not sure if this divorce is something I want'?" The first four words weren't a surprise, but the rest…. Hermione paled.

Harry grinned. "That's a start!" Hermione remained unconvinced and nauseated. And he could see her apprehension. "If your marriage is something you want, then you have to fight for it. How else is he supposed to know that you actually care? You have to show him."

She bit the inside of her cheek, embarrassed by her next question. "How?" She should know how to fight, she'd done it for so long, but this was different.

"I can't tell you…" he trailed off for a moment before meeting her eyes again, "Just try to imagine what sort of torture Malfoy went through when he said all that to someone like you."

She felt a sting of pain at his words. "Someone like me?"

"Yeah," he replied, "You know. Someone who doesn't need anything—or anyone. It must be hard to be married to someone like that because it can leave someone feeling obsolete in their own marriage. I don't know. I like being needed. I like that Pansy and Van need me … and like to show me that they need me. I imagine Malfoy is the same way, most people are, but you—you're different."

Hermione knew he was right, but lamely argued, "I'm no different than—"

Harry laughed. "You're plenty different, and I think you're starting to see that, too."

She said nothing.

"Hermione, you don't need anything or anyone."

"That's not true."

"And you're in denial." Harry argued. "Because if you did need him, you wouldn't be getting a divorce. You would do whatever it takes to save your marriage. And, to be frank, the only thing you've done is push him away. And you're not doing anything now."

She wanted to be upset with him, she wanted to walk away, but she couldn't.

"When did you become so wise?" That nagging feeling was coming back; that told her that she was wrong. Hermione hated that feeling. She hated it more because it was right.

"It's not really wisdom. I just know you. I know that you get so focused on what you want to be focused on that nothing else matters. I know that you're so headstrong and set in your own ways that you'll ignore what's right in front of you—without even knowing that you're doing it! I know that you only see what you want to see. I know that because you're so good at finding fault in others, you're oblivious to your own. Come to think of it, you're pretty oblivious to everything else, too…especially Malfoy." Harry shook his head. "It's a wonder you ever got married to begin with."

"And why's that?" Hermione would've been upset had she not heard these words before…

Three times before.

Merlin.

Harry shrugged again, "You didn't need to get married. You could've kept going on with your life. I imagine that you could've been happy in that life, too. I—"

"I love him," Hermione blurted out. "I married Draco because I loved him. I still do, even though he may not think so. Even though I don't really say it or been too busy to show it."

At that, Harry sort of scoffed and rolled his eyes. Before she could ask, he then smiled and said, "See, and you thought you forgot."

"Yes, but love isn't enough to save our marriage."

And as Hermione laid awake that night, she watched as time ticked on and replayed his words in her mind. _"Love may not be enough to save your marriage, but it's always a good place to start."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of JK Rowling. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


	6. April 28th

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione folded her arms across her chest and looked over at Narcissa who was daintily patting her mouth with a napkin. She frowned. "How long has she been here?"
> 
> "Thirty of the most excruciating minutes of my damn life." Ginny exasperated almost frantically. "What the hell could she possibly have to talk to you about that's so urgent that—"
> 
> "Draco told her … about us being married … and about the divorce."
> 
> Ginny's eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. "Holy…"

_I don't wanna be someone who's searching_  
_ Finally met someone, I finally met someone_  
_ There's a couple things I'm still learning_  
_ Just gotta figure out_  
_ But you need someone who knows_  
_ I came to you tonight_  
_ But now you're just walking away_

_Oh won't you stay_  
_ I need you need you here_  
_ When you're with me_  
_ All others disappear_  
_ I'll follow close_  
_ So close I'll almost touch_  
_ I need your love_  
_ But it never hurt this much_ **  
Stay - Gavin Degraw**

** _April 28th_ **

_It couldn't have arrived at a better time_, Hermione thought with bitter sarcasm as she leaned back against the countertop, brought her cup of coffee to her lips, and stared at the envelope on the kitchen table. She blew her mug to make the steam rush off the hot coffee and sighed. Ginny had pathetically tried to assure her that it was something else, but she'd known exactly what it was as soon as the owl had dropped it on the table.

_Their divorce papers._

Had it been two weeks already?

The large envelope, sealed with green wax and stamped with the Malfoy coat of arms, was made of thick and very strong parchment. _The very best, of course,_ she thought with a roll of her eyes. That part of Draco hadn't changed, and—Hermione paused and closed her eyes. She desperately wanted to say something bad about him, but just couldn't. He didn't deserve it. That much had become alarmingly clear after her conversation with Harry.

But if he would have…

"Stop," she told herself firmly.

Hermione remembered being in this strange thought pattern after she'd finished packing up her stuff from their bedroom—it was as if she were arguing with herself. One second it was his fault, and the next Hermione found herself thinking about everything that had been said to her and pointing out her own stupid mistakes.

There were many. So many that all she could do was sit, wonder, and doubt.

Well, wonder about what exactly to do … and doubt herself.

And in her frustration, she wanted to curse Harry for digging into her and planting that seed of doubt. That seed had grown into a large tree that consumed the entire open area of her mind. Hanging from it were big, ripe fruits of worry and apprehension. She wanted—no, needed—to say something to Draco. She couldn't let their final words be the end. She couldn't walk away from their marriage without saying—oh, but Hermione _had_ been given a chance to talk to him. Two of them, but she had let them pass her by. She thought about trying again, but _it_ caught her attention.

The envelope.

And the tree of doubt grew larger.

What could she _possibly_ say to him? Hermione moved across the small kitchen and sat down at the table, daring not to touch the envelope. It was one thing to _say_ that they were getting a divorce; it was an entirely different thing to have the papers in front of her.

It was real.

It was really happening to her—to _them_.

And that was a very hard pill to swallow.

Hermione put down her coffee mug and quickly stood from her seat. The caffeine was too much and not enough, all at the same time. Her body was jittery, but her mind was mush and she couldn't go into work like that. She needed something else. Something to calm her nerves, quell the nausea, and help her focus.

That was how she ended up herself smoking outside on the patio, but this cigarette was different from the last. It did nothing. By the time she put it out on the ashtray, she felt the same, but that didn't stop her from lighting another.

She was two puffs in when it dawned on her. The only reason why she gave into such unhealthy urges was to calm her nerves, but they were still frazzled … and she was _still_ smoking. Hermione pulled the fag from between her lips when she realised that she was smoking not so much to relieve stress as simply for the familiar pleasure of the habit.

_Habit_.

Oh no.

Hermione exhaled and stared at the burning fag slowly wasting away between her fingers. Habit. She didn't like that word, especially when used to describe her smoking. So, before she could talk herself out of it, she put it out and took a deep breath. That fag would be her last, Hermione decided as she turned on her heels and went back inside—not to face the envelope, but to fix herself a small breakfast.

She had never really been a fan of the meal, but Draco was and cooking seemed to be a good way to divert her attention from habits and smoking and envelopes and divorces.

Shame it didn't work.

The moment she finished breakfast, Hermione found herself right back to where she had been before: staring at the envelope and wondering. She wondered if things would've gotten better if she had actually tried. She wondered if, because the conversation had happened so quickly and because she'd been feeling it on a subconscious level, if they'd mistakenly taken it as a sign that it was time to end the marriage. And as she reached to pick up the envelope, Hermione paused and wondered if this was truly the right thing to do.

* * *

The Ministry's library was quiet—save for the murmur of whispered voices, the whooshing sound that books made when they sailed by, and the occasional muffled snore from the old librarian. Hermione sat at the table with a look of determination on her face. Multiple books and journals were spread out on the table, as well as her favourite quill and a few sheets of parchment.

She was going to get some work done today on her personal project if it was the last thing she did.

Hermione opened The Theory of Thought in Encephalons and started to read.

Over an hour would pass before she realised that she'd been staring at the same page—the first page—without really giving a damn about a word of it. Clearly, this divorce wasn't just affecting her; it was affecting her work, too.

Not only had her productivity at work taken a sharp nosedive in the last few weeks, she had been making an obscene amount of errors while making the Amortentia; sometimes critical errors that had forced them to start over. Overcooking, chopping ingredients incorrectly, and miscalculating the amount of Ashwinder eggs were not mistakes that Hermione would ever normally make, and people had begun to notice. Whispers followed her around wherever she went, all of them speculating and asking the same thing: had the workaholic Hermione Granger _finally_ cracked?

Hermione was beginning to think she had.

This morning after their mandatory safety meeting, Hoggleton had pulled her aside and told her that Zacharias had come to him and expressed his concern for her. He'd had the gall to tell their _boss_ that she was currently going through a rough break-up and that it was affecting her performance. And if that wasn't enough, Hoggleton then had asked if she needed to use some of her vacation time. Hermione had managed to stop the anger and embarrassment from seizing control of her rational thoughts long enough to politely reply with a firm 'No'. Even though she continued to reiterate that she was completely capable of doing her job, he had still put her on strictly research—at least for the next few days.

Just the thought made Hermione's fist clench around her quill.

The nerve of that … she took a deep, cleansing breath and started reading.

There was no time to dwell. On anything.

She had a job to do.

Someone—a male someone, she noticed after a quickly glance over at his shoes—slid into the chair next to her and asked, "Where are we starting today?"

Hermione tensed when she heard Zacharias' voice. He was the very last person that she wanted to see. She opened her mouth to tell him to go away, but stopped herself. She was a professional, after all. And she kept that in mind when she straightened her back, turned her head, and drawled "We?" before returning to her research.

"Of course, where else would I be?"

She bit back her sarcastic reply and substituted, "Upstairs working."

"Without my partner?" he put his hand on the back of her chair, "Of course not. As soon as I heard you were doing research for our project in the library, I came down straightaway."

_Their_ project?

"How thoughtful of you," she deadpanned as scribbled a few notes down.

If he noticed her tone, he didn't show it. "How many journals have you been through?"

"I've only just started."

"Really?" Zacharias moved his chair a bit closer to hers and peered at her work. "You've haven't gotten a lot done…."

"And? Your point?"

"It's just that you've been distracted lately."

She tensed and muttered under her breath, "So I've been told."

"How are things going with that? Better, I hope. We have a lot of work to do to get this project off the ground and we need to be on point with every—"

She cut him off tersely, "I understand that."

"You sound upset. Are you still dealing with that—?"

Hermione closed the old book with a loud snap that sent a puff of dust right in Zacharias' face, and she watched with slight validation as he coughed and sputtered. And then she slid the book over to him and opened another. He excused himself and left for several minutes and by the time he returned, Hermione was starting on her second roll of parchment.

Zacharias plopped down in his seat, "Sorry about that. I'd forgotten how dusty these books are." Before she could stop him, her partner picked up the first parchment and started reading her notes. "I think that we're supposed to—"

"Do _not_ tell me how to do my job. This was _my_ idea, and I'll execute it however I want."

He blinked. "Hermione, we're partners, we work together—"

"Oh, so that's what we are? Partners? Really?" she couldn't keep the anger out of her tone. "When last I checked, partners weren't in the habit of throwing one another under the Knight bus the first opportunity that they got."

"What are you—?"

"I'm _talking_ about you going to our boss and talking to him about _my_ personal life. You had no right—"

"I had every right, Hermione, and you know it. The nature of our work gives me that right. We are a team, and when one player is injured, the entire team suffers. When one person is absent, even mentally, it affects the entire team. And you haven't been present in the last few weeks. I don't know what's wrong with you or why you can't seem to get over this—_person_, but you've been buggering everything up left and right and I can't stand it anymore. Your idea is brilliant and we're on the brink of something that could catapult us to the top of the department. I did what I thought was right. Was it childish? Probably, but I didn't become your partner to have you bring me down. I became your partner because you're the brilliant Hermione Granger. I became your partner because I thought that you had your head on straight, I thought you wanted to be more than the Head Researcher, I thought you knew what was important, I thought that you—"

Hermione couldn't take it anymore. It was just all too ridiculous. "What? Are you serious?" The look on his face told her that he was dead serious. It was unbelievable! "Are you even _listening_ to yourself? This is a job, not your life! You're so obsessed with your career that you would put it before—" she stopped cold, unable to finish the sentence without sounding like a raging hypocrite.

"It's not an obsession. It's called me knowing where I want to go in this department and knowing exactly how I'm going to get there. It's call drive, ambition … you've just lost sight of everything."

_"You've just lost sight of everything!"_

_"No, I'm not the one who's lost sight, Hermione. You have!" Draco shouted. "Keeping our marriage a secret was never about my parents. They already know we're together—"_

_"And they hate it, you—"_

_"They don't like any of the decisions I've made, Hermione, but they live with it!" he shouted, "They always have."_

_"You—"_

_"And you know what? It stopped being about Potter, Pansy, and the media a long time ago, too. But it has never stopped being about you, your career, and what you want."_

_"That's not fair, Draco, and you know it. Before you lost your mind and started this campaign to make us go public, you—"_

_"I can't 'make' you do any—"_

_She raised her voice over his, "You were all about sacrificing a public relationship for your career, even after we got married. You can't deny that, Draco." And when he didn't, Hermione sniffed, "The pot must never call the kettle black. It has no right."_

_"Well, I'm not a pot anymore," he replied tersely. "And—"_

_"I'm a part of something that's very important. You know that. We're on the brink of unlocking the brains in the Ministry. We're on the cusp of learning everything there is to know about how they work … and how the human brain wo—"_

_"I know that already. I've partnered with you and Smith before. I know everything there is to know about your research, and I hate to break it to you, but you all have been on the cusp of figuring them out for years now," he dryly replied._

_"Oh, you know all about our research, huh? Surprising. I never thought you cared—"_

_"Never thought I cared?" he snorted, "Caring has never been the issue here, at least not on my part. You're the one who doesn't give a shit about anything except for—"_

That wasn't true. It just wasn't. She—of course she cared. Hermione would've readily signed the divorce papers if she hadn't. She would've at least touched the envelope. She wouldn't have spent the last few weeks questioning her actions and behaviours, and coming apart at the seams with every new realisation about herself, Draco, and their marriage.

If she hadn't cared, Hermione would've spent her days working and her nights sleeping, instead she found herself constantly wondering just how people went through something as life-altering as divorce and emerged with their sanity. Because all Hermione did lately was drive herself crazy with thoughts and memories and understanding. Her brain felt scrambled, along with her heart. She could no longer tell which of them controlled her actions.

"Now that that's out of the way," Zacharias interrupted her thoughts, "Let's get this research—" A paper airplane landed in front of her just then. Hermione unfolded it and read the letter. It was from Ginny, telling her that she needed to return to the flat. Immediately. "What is that all about?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but it seems that I have an emergency at home that I need to tend to. No need for you to run and tell our boss that I'm leaving, I'll do it myself." Hermione started gathering her belonging and piling the books up, but Zacharias stopped her.

"I'll clear this up myself."

"Fine," she grabbed her beaded bag and quickly stuffed her parchments and quill into it. She was about to walk away, but remembered something. "I think you should know that this wasn't about me having a few off weeks; this was about you and your lack of professional courtesy. You had no right to go tell him all those things about my private life. It's not your place." Zacharias opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off. "In the future, if you have an issue with me, Zacharias, I would appreciate it if you could be mature about it and address your issues in a more professional manner."

Zacharias stared at her hard before picking up a book. The expression on his slightly red face was tight when he said, "Fine, but do us both a favour, and get your priorities in order before you risk your job … and mine."

Hermione walked away.

* * *

Hermione hurriedly stepped out of the Floo and into the empty sitting room. She started to call out for Ginny when she turned her head towards the kitchen and—oh gods! She threw a hand over her mouth to stop herself from gasping aloud. Hermione wasn't sure what was more shocking: the fact that Narcissa Malfoy was _in her kitchen_ or that Ginny Weasley, of all people, was attempting to entertain her with tea and pastries.

Attempting was the key word because the awkwardness between them was so thick it was almost putrid. Ginny looked nauseated and Narcissa looked … well, like herself. Hermione covered her eyes as if the sight before her would go away if she couldn't see it, but moments later she lowered her hands and—shit.

Well, if all else failed, she could just turn around and sneak back through the Floo.

In fact, she was in the midst of doing that when she heard, "Oh look, _Hermione's_ here!"

Hermione slowly turned back around and started towards the table with one thought on her mind: _I'm going to murder her. _As she approached the table, the sight became even stranger. While Narcissa looked pristine as ever with olive robes, Ginny looked like she'd just rolled out of bed. She was still in her pyjamas and her hair was in this weird side-ponytail and—Hermione took a step forward.

Where in the world had Ginny procured china? And were those biscuits? Had she actually _baked_ them? Last Hermione remembered, she'd rebelled when Mrs. Weasley tried to pass down all she knew about the art of cooking. Gods, Ginny couldn't make eggs, much less biscuits. She lived off of takeaway when she wasn't on tour. Yet, there was a half-eaten biscuit on Narcissa Malfoy's saucer … and she seemed to still be living … for now.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Hermione. It's been far too long since you've been to the Manor for dinner." Of course, Narcissa looked as if there was something smelly under her nose when she had said that so Hermione didn't quite know what to say.

It _had_ been a while—okay, a year, but she didn't think that they'd noticed or cared about making nice with their son's little Muggle-born witch. Dinners with the Malfoys had always been awkward to the point of being bizarre. Lucius Malfoy always stared at her as if she were some monstrosity, Narcissa simply refused to believe that she was a Muggle-born and grilled her about her family tree, and Draco remained completely oblivious—or he did a damn good job pretending.

She gave Narcissa the politest smile that she could muster, "Yes, it has … how have you been?"

Her reply was clipped, "Quite well, thank you for asking."

An awkward moment passed before Hermione asked, "Ginny, can we talk outside for a moment?"

The redhead was out of her seat in record time; a bit too eager to get out of the room. She seemed to remember her manners before she made a complete break for the door and slowly turned to ask, "Will you excuse us for a minute, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Of course, Narcissa eyed the two of them before primly nodding.

As soon as the back door slid closed behind them, Ginny let out the biggest sigh of relief and started ranting. "I thought you were _never_ going to come!"

"How did she—"

"I don't know! I was watching a football game on the telly and eating a bowl of Coco Rocks in my pyjamas when she—I heard someone coming through the Floo, but I thought it was Ron coming over to raid the fridge. But no, Narcissa _Malfoy_ just walks out the Floo like she belongs here. I nearly spilled my cereal." Hermione's eyes grew wider and wider as Ginny continued, "She asks me where you are and I tell her you're at work, and she _sits down_. I tell her you're not going to be home for a while, but she says that she can wait."

"Is that how tea—"

"No. She had two house-elves come in and fix the tea and biscuits for us."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest and looked over at Narcissa who was daintily patting her mouth with a napkin. She frowned. "How long has she been here?"

"Thirty of the most excruciating minutes of my damn _life_." Ginny exasperated almost frantically. "What the hell could she possibly have to talk to you about that's so urgent that—"

"Draco told her … about us being married … and about the divorce."

Ginny's eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. "Holy…"

"I know," and then Hermione's face scrunched up. "But, that doesn't really explain why she's here."

They both peered back into the kitchen at the exact moment Narcissa looked over at them. They quickly diverted their eyes. Ginny gave her a shove that made her stumble to the side a bit. She was unfazed by the glare that Hermione shot her. "I suggest you go in there and find out."

"Aren't you going to wish me luck?"

"Luck is for the unprepared…" she trailed off, "Oh that's right, good luck!" And then she scurried back into the flat, exchanged some words with Narcissa, and disappeared.

Hermione walked back into the kitchen like a condemned witch walking to the stake. Her brain was already flashing her images of their impending conversation, and it wasn't at all pretty. The problem was that it could go so many different ways, and each scenario that played in her head was worse than the one previous. As if she hadn't heard the glass door open, Narcissa looked up rather suddenly at Hermione. She then gestured to the chair next to her; the chair that Ginny had gladly abandoned.

Oddly enough, the tea cup and biscuit that had been there before was gone and replaced with a different cup and another biscuit. She slid into the seat, picked up the biscuit, and bit into it. It was actually pretty—

"I think we should talk," Narcissa poured herself another cup of tea. "Would you like some tea, Miss. Granger? Or should I call you Mrs. Malfoy?"

Hermione nearly choked on her—ok, she _did_ choke. It wasn't that her words had come as a surprise; it was that they had come with so little preamble. What happened to the witch who talked in circles? She covered her mouth before partially chewed biscuit bits could come flying out.

Narcissa casually handed her a napkin and waited until she was no longer sputtering to ask in a rather mocking tone, "Do you take milk in your tea, _Mrs. Malfoy_?"

She took a moment to gather her wits. "I actually do, thank you very much," Hermione replied hoarsely and watched as the blonde witch poured some into her teacup. She stirred it politely and said, "You don't have to call me Mrs. Malfoy, I think I get your point."

"Oh really, _Mrs. Malfoy_?"

With gritted teeth, Hermione said, "You're upset that Draco and I got married. Or rather, you're upset that your pure-blooded son married a Muggle-born."

She'd always thought that Draco had gotten his aloofness from his father, but Narcissa was rapidly proving her wrong. She was the _queen_ of the blank stare. "Oh?" the witch drawled, "Is that what you think?"

Hermione straightened in her chair. "Yes, that's exactly what I think, but you won't have to worry about that anymore because we, as you already know, are getting divorced."

"Right," she lifted her tea cup to her lips and took a polite and quiet sip. "So I've heard."

What was she supposed to say to that? Hermione wasn't sure, so she remained silent, sipped on her tea, and ate the rest of her biscuit. Narcissa finished minutes later and Hermione grimaced when the witch snapped her fingers and two house-elves came in to clear the table. She opened her mouth to preach about their welfare when she looked closely and saw that they both wore little bowties.

They were _free_.

Hermione's eyebrow quirked with interest, but she said nothing.

Narcissa suggested that they go into the sitting room, but neither sat down. It didn't take long for Hermione's patience to wear thin. "Excuse me for being frank, but why exactly are you here?"

"To talk to you, of course."

"Why? I can't imagine what we have to discuss."

"Oh, we have much to discuss," Narcissa said rather ominously. "But first, I should ask. Do your parents know that you are married?"

"They were at the wedding."

She bristled, but replied with a cool, "I see."

"I haven't informed them about the divorce. I haven't quite found the words."

_Or the nerve._

"Was it a nice wedding?"

"It was storming outside, our guests were wet, and the Officiator was practically panting through the vows, but it was quite nice." Hermione replied with a slight smile that quickly faded. "Why do you want to kno—_oh_."

And it hit her.

Perhaps Narcissa did care—if only for Draco's sake.

"I love my son, and I hate it when he's miserable."

"But Draco isn't miserable. I've seen him a few times since I moved out. He's been his normal self. He filed the papers, put a rush on them, and had them delivered to me. He—"

"Is very good at hiding his feelings," Narcissa interrupted. "But I shouldn't have to tell his _wife_ that."

Hermione swallowed thickly.

"He's been spending a lot of time at the Manor. As much as I like to see my son at home, it's quite disturbing. He barely eats or sleeps or speaks to anyone."

She cringed, taking absolutely no pleasure in hearing about Draco's pain.

"He—"

"Why are you telling me this?" Hermione asked softly.

"I already told you. He's—"

"But you're not supposed to care. In fact, you're supposed to be happy that he'll be free of me soon enough. Draco told me about your reaction. He said that you walked out of the room. You should be—"

"I assure you, Hermione, that you are very wrong about me. I walked out of the room because I was shocked by the news … and hurt that I hadn't been in attendance at my only son's wedding. I was hurt that Draco thought he couldn't tell us the truth." Narcissa hesitantly rested her dainty hand on Hermione's and finished speaking. "And I was angry that, just when I find out I _have_ a daughter-in-law, I also find out that I'm losing her."

Hermione blinked, unable to speak.

Narcissa looked at her and sighed, "I may not necessarily approve of his choice, but my son deserves the best. Obviously, since he married you, he thinks that you are the best. Lucius and I will just have to cope. We always have when it comes to our son's strange decisions. Still, it would have been nice if you two had managed to muster up some faith in us."

"I don't understand why all this matters. We're getting a divorce, and sure, it's not necessarily what I want, but it is reality. The papers have been filed, processed, and are here waiting for me to sign."

"But you haven't." It was a statement, not a question.

"No."

"Why haven't you?"

"There was a time, not so long ago, when Draco loved me so much that he made sacrifices to save our marriage. And—I messed up." She couldn't believe how honest she was being with Narcissa, but her hand was still resting on Hermione's … and that was more encouragement than she had ever hoped to receive from her. "I'm not sure where I stand with him anymore. Maybe I don't stand anywhere with him, but I need to go to him. I need to apologise. And … and I need to fight."

* * *

It was a truth universally known—or at least to Hermione—that having too much time to think made her do crazy, stupid things. Being alone with some of her thoughts made her worthy of a white-walled, twelve-by-twelve room that was manned by a medi-witch named Opal.

Minus the windows, plus the escape-proof straightjacket.

But being with those thoughts for long periods of time, Hermione discovered, easily disrupted the inner monologue in the logic centre of her brain. It was to the point where, in her head, she said that there was no point talking to him now, but in reality, she was standing about twenty feet from their—_his_—doorstep at eleven o'clock at night.

It was as if she'd been in some sort of strange fugue state when she'd gotten up from the table, dug her wedding ring out of a bag, grabbed her wand and the envelope, and Apparated here. Hermione didn't know exactly how long she'd been standing out there, but her head was cold, her bare feet were even colder, and her calf muscles were unbelievably cramped. She could hear crackling branches of the trees and—Hermione looked over her shoulder suddenly.

She was sure that the tumultuous weather would've uprooted the old English oak tree by now, but there it was. Broken branches littered the ground around it, but the tree still stood. It certainly was tougher than it looked.

Hermione took a deep breath.

She could use some strength right about now.

It would've been easier to take the remaining steps to the doorstep and knock—or _something_—instead of staying out here in the cold. Hadn't she done the hard part—she wasn't sure _how_—by gathering up enough nerve to come here? Hermione was convinced that she had. All she had to do was just walk forward and push a button. Of course, every time she tried, that silly little thing called pride, which had showed up rather late, stopped her.

The damage had been done, right?

Everything had been pricked, poked, and stabbed, right?

She had been wrong about everything, and she could admit that … at least to herself.

Hermione brought the envelope to her chest and held it there, closing her eyes tight.

_"You know, I—" Draco sighed. "I'm shit at apologies."_

_"You don't have to apologise to me. Not when…." she trailed off, her stubborn pride didn't allow her to say the rest._

Fuck her pride. She was wrong. Her priorities were wrong. The way she'd treated him was wrong. The way she let the secrecy of their marriage get out of hand wasn't just wrong, it was _insane._ Now, it had become alarmingly clear that her subconscious had brought her here to swallow her pride finally say all this to him.

_But,_ her pride interjected smoothly, _couldn't she say all this in the morning? Why did it have to be now?_

It had a point. A very good one.

Hermione took a quick step back, ready to pivot, when she heard her name.

"Hermione."

It was soft, so soft that she could hardly hear it over the wind and rustling branches, much less tell from what direction it had come. She froze and looked around, her wand tight in the grip of her right hand. _Weird._

She took another step back and she heard it again, louder.

"Hermione."

She turned her head to the left and—she closed her eyes.

The oak tree was _not_ talking to her, right?

Clearly, she was in dire need of sleep.

And as the wind briefly died down, Hermione chanted, "Trees don't talk. Trees don't talk. Trees don't—"

"Was that ever an option?" she spun around and looked up. Draco was—he was sitting in her windowsill! She was down here, he was up there, and before she could recognise the crazy irony of this entire situation, he asked, "Why are you talking to the tree?"

"I thought it was—" she quickly recognised how insane that sounded and decided not to continue. "Nothing. It's late. I have no idea why I'm here." That was her pride talking. She pushed it aside. "Okay, that's not true. I just—" And it came right back, desperate to get out of this horrifically awkward situation intact. "It can want until morning. I should probably—"

"Come in, maybe. You can Floo back from here."

Hermione wanted to decline his offer, but knew that if she left, she would never get an opportunity like this again. And that was something she just couldn't risk. This—_he_ was what she wanted. So to hell with her pride. "Erm, okay."

Draco quickly closed the window and disappeared from sight, while her feet carried her to the door as fast as they would go. For reasons she couldn't understand, she put on her wedding band and looked at it, trying to ignore how strange it felt on her finger. Hermione was just about to tuck the envelope under her arm and smooth down her wrinkled pyjama pants when the door opened, revealing a shirtless Draco.

He was trying to torture her, she was convinced. It took everything for Hermione to keep her eyes on his face instead of letting them wander down his…

"You could've just walked in."

She stepped inside. "I didn't want your wards to throw me back."

Draco shut the door behind her. "I never changed them."

"Oh," she stared at him just a little bit longer. He looked how she felt: completely rundown.

"Well, nothing's changed since—" In that moment, he looked gravely uncomfortable. And was that … hurt? Oh gods. "The Floo powder is—"

"I'm so sorry," Hermione blurted out.

Draco blinked. "What?"

"I—" the words died on her tongue, but she sighed and tried again, "I was … wrong … about everything."

He stared at her for a moment. "I know my mother went to see you earlier. This isn't some—"

"Ploy? Game? Mission from your mother? Gods, I wish it were, but it's not." Her chest was incredibly tight when she said those words. She could hardly breathe. But when she opened her mouth to speak again, she felt like she was riding on the back of Buckbeak again. "This is just me standing here, Draco. This is me fighting for our marriage for the first time. This is me t-trying to swallow my enormous pride to apologise to you … and I'm f-failing miserably."

Draco just blinked and in that moment, Hermione seriously wanted to spontaneously combust.

"I didn't do a lot of things right. I un-unfairly blamed you for everything that was wrong in our marriage. And I know that I don't deserve it, but hopefully … at some point in the future … you would be willing to forgive me?"

He ran a hand through his hair and started, "Her—"

"I've made mistake after mistake and—"

"You have," he broke through calmly, "But so have I."

Hermione shook her head and argued, "But you were trying to make this work, you moved to a different department, you tried to talk to me, you tried to tell me how you felt, and I—everything in the world was more important than us. I'm the reason we're at this point…" she produced the envelope.

There was silence as Draco stared at it. Hermione watched him.

"I haven't signed it yet," she looked down then back at him, "I'm not sure—I don't think—no, I'm pretty positive that I don't—want this." There, it was out … and Draco was still staring at her. Hermione supposed that she wasn't done talking. "I spent weeks trying to figure out why we got married, thinking I didn't know the answer when I knew it all along. The rest of the reasons don't matter, I married you because I loved you … I still do. I always have. It was just buried under a lot of misplaced anger and stupidity. I've been an idiot about everything, and this divorce has made me see that."

"Hermione—"

She wasn't finished. "I—I want to be your wife. I _want_ to need you. Or at least learn how. I just—I just want to make this work." She told him strongly. "I don't want to sign this paper. I don't want a divorce."

"But _I_ do."

Hearing those three words brought everything to a screeching halt … and then it crushed her. She wanted to run for the door, but something—and his hand that had wrapped itself around her wrist—held her back. Hermione swore not to let her feelings show, but traitorous tears fell from her eyes when Draco held his other hand out for the envelope. This wasn't at all what she'd expected to happen. She turned her body away from his as best as she could, refusing to let him see her tears.

Draco moved closer—to the point where he was hovering over her. His voice was low and he sounded odd when he said, "I think we should."

"Why?" she couldn't stop the word from cracking in her throat nor could she stop the stupid tears from falling. She should've known! And she wasn't sure if she was crying because she'd made a complete fool or herself or from the fact that his words had hurt her beyond belief. A low sob tore from her chest when Draco had the nerve to wrap his arms around her. She tried to push him away, but he held on. "Let go of me," she ground out angrily, "If you still wanted the divorce, you should've just told me! You shouldn't have let me get my hopes up like that. You shouldn't have played with my head and my emotions! I came here because I—"

Draco swallowed her next words by capturing her lips in a kiss. Closed mouthed, it was nothing more than lips touching, but it lingered. It was easy. Easy to just close her eyes and let go of everything.

Hermione's eyes popped open. No! She tried to push him away, but Draco wouldn't budge for anything. He just held her—not hard, but firm—until her shoulders, which had been up somewhere around her ears, started to relax. She thought that now that she'd stopped, _he_ would stop … and Merlin was she ever wrong.

It had clearly become a habit.

His hands moved to the sides of her face, which caught Hermione off guard. "Wha—" She never finished because Draco was right there, kissing the corners of her mouth, then moving to her upper lip, and finally taking her lower lip between his and kissing her properly, deeply. All she could do was think that Draco shouldn't hold and kiss her like she mattered, not after what he'd said. And Hermione thought that she shouldn't lean into him and kiss him back as if there was nowhere else she'd rather be, but she was.

Because he did.

And just like that, it was over.

The look on his face was intense, as always, but slightly hazy. And his voice was a bit hoarse when he murmured, "I hate that you smoke. Your mouth tastes like an ashtray."

"And I hate when you walk away. It makes me feel like you don't care."

Draco frowned. "It's—"

"I don't care about your reasons, don't walk away. Not even if you're angry."

For the first time in a long time, the silence between them was peaceful.

That was, until he said, "We _need_ this divorce." Hermione's heart started to sink, but then he said, "We've mucked this up, and…" Draco took a deep breath before he said, "Now that I know we both are finally on the same page, I think we need a chance to do things right the second time around."

Her heart swelled. "Second time around?" She narrowed her eyes. "This-this was your idea all along?"

"Yes, but—"

"What if I hadn't come here?" Hermione asked. "What if I'd just given up, signed the papers, and sent them on?"

"I would've left it at that. I would've let you go."

"Why? Why would you—" And realisation dawned on her. "What you said in the lift. About how you were done fighting for me … you wanted _me_ to fight for _you_. You were testing me."

Draco shook his head. "I wouldn't call it a test, per se. I just wanted to see if you thought we were worth it."

"I do." Hermione said earnestly. But the next thought made her frown. "But people are going to talk the moment our divorce become public. They're going to be relentless and this is just going to open up an entirely new can of worms. There are going to be all sorts of rumours and—"

He kissed her, again. Probably to shut her up, but she didn't care. For once, she allowed herself to relax and enjoy the moment without pondering too much about everything. It felt strange and … oddly liberating. When he pulled away and said, "We'll figure it out," she was actually comforted by his confidence because hers was about as unstable as the oak tree.

"Okay. I'm," Hermione exhaled. "Ready. I'm ready."

She watched as he broke the envelope's seal, and prepared himself for the contents. He withdrew the folded parchment from it, but didn't read it. Instead, Draco handed her the envelope, took her by the hand, and led the way to the study.

And an hour later, they were facing each other, legs and hands entwined … fast asleep in the centre of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of JK Rowling. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


	7. April 29th

_You're the reason, the air I'm breathing, so don't go leaving,_   
_Cause loving you is the only think that ever really touched my soul_   
_I'm protective, of my blessings_   
_Glad I kept it, I never really thought about the future til I saw my life_   
_Finding it's purpose, so very worth it_   
_And now I know that love is really worth it_

_And that's why some people fight for love_   
_They stick with it, just can't quit it_   
_Some people hide from love, they run from it, cause they don't want it_   
_When you got a love and it's good like it should be_   
_Makes you never wanna give it up_   
_Cause you know that some people fight for love_   
_And I believe it's true cause I'd do the same for you _ **  
Fight For Love - Eliott Yamin**

_ **April 29th** _

There were six hesitation marks in her signature; four in her first name and two in her last. She was convinced that there was some irony involved in this situation and struggled to identify it. The fact that her signature on the divorce papers only had two hesitation marks, right at the end when she'd looked up at Draco for assurance, had to mean _something_.

Well, Hermione thought as she set down the quill, that situation had been a lot different.

For starters, there had been little time to let the truth sink in. The instant Draco lifted his quill after signing the final parchment, everything, including the envelope vanished before their eyes. And without the papers right there, it had been easier to forget what they had done. However, the quiet task of taking off each other's rings had done an excellent job to remind her.

Her head instinctively turned and—there they were, still sitting on the dresser, waiting for them to decide their fate. Draco had been inclined to dispose of them immediately, but Hermione persuaded him to wait until morning to decide.

But after a full night's worth of sleep, the first in nearly a month, she was inclined to let him.

She'd never been attached to her wedding ring and was almost positive he felt the same.

After all, they'd hardly worn them.

Hermione's eyes returned to the signed letter in front of her. It would've been easy if this too had instantly vanished like the divorce documents, but it hadn't. Instead, it stared at her, mocked her, and tempted her to tear it to shreds and toss it in the rubbish bin like she had done to the first nine drafts. She didn't have to do it. Soon enough, it would all be out and it really didn't matter what she d—Hermione shook her head.

No.

She _needed_ to do this.

Of course Draco hadn't asked her to; it wasn't in his nature to ask something like that of her. Yet … Hermione had the strangest urge to show him just how committed she was to making their relationship work this time around. She wanted to prove to Draco that she was willing to get her priorities in order. Not to mention, Hermione felt the need to show him that he wasn't the only one who could make sacrifices.

And this, she felt, was the biggest of all.

She re-read the letter.

They could've discovered something fascinating, and with this parchment, her years of hard work, research, long hours, and sacrifice would all be in vain.

Hermione sighed and bit on the back of her forefinger, something she did only when she was pensive … and deeply troubled. She found herself thinking, reflecting, and obsessing over everything, but before she could drive herself crazy with doubt and worry, a deep groan came from the bed. Hermione watched as Draco felt around for her, and almost smiled when, after realising she was no longer there, he sat up and scratched his head. The dishevelled Draco yawned, rubbed his eyes, and looked over at her, "Morning."

"Morning."

He rubbed his eyes, "What time is it?"

"Early," she offered a weak smile, "Did I wake you?"

"No," he mumbled sleepily and checked the clock on his bedside, "It's five in the morning. Why are you even awake?"

"Partially out of habit, but also because I had some things I needed to do … for work."

Draco frowned thinly, but said nothing. He really didn't have to. The look on his face spoke his disappointment and hurt loud and clear … without changing much at all. And she really understood what they were up against.

They had to essentially start all over again, fresh, and that entailed much more than she had initially anticipated. She and Draco had been so detached from one another for so long that she knew that she had to reacquaint herself with him on more than a mental and physical level, but an emotional one, too. But that wasn't a problem. She knew that she was ready to listen and learn and reconnect with the Draco who fought hard to protect the tender parts of himself, whilst still letting her know they were there.

It was just—Hermione looked down at the letter.

"I'll be done in a minute," she muttered.

Several silent moments passed before he tightly asked, "What are you working on?"

She looked over at him, "My resignation letter."

There was a flicker of something in his eyes. It told her that he hadn't expected that. "Oh."

"Yeah," she sighed, looking down at the letter.

Why did she have to do this, again? Oh right, because if she didn't, they would be bound to repeat history. As far as she knew, they could repeat history regardless—Hermione shook her head. Priorities, right? Right. She didn't hear Draco get out of bed, but she felt it when he stood behind her chair and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"You don't have to do this," he told her.

"Actually," Hermione finally folded the letter and put it into the envelope before she could hesitate any longer, "I'm pretty certain that I do."

"Your work means a lot to you."

She wanted to selfishly take those words and use them as reason to rip up her resignation letter, but instead Hermione put her hand over his, "It does, really, but you were right. It's just a job. I love what I do, but there _are_ more important things." And she repeated those words to herself over and over again as the emotions that the words conveyed built in intensity and clarity. Hermione's voice was a little raw when she added, "Besides, I could use a holiday for a few months. I can do some travelling, go back to Hogwarts for a visit, have some sessions with Ms Melonakos, actually _attend_ one of Ginny's Quidditch matches, learn a new language, pick up a new hobby, visit my parents—maybe have dinner with yours. Perhaps we both can … together. We certainly have the financial means … and the time."

"To do all of that?"

"And more, if you want…."

"I can always take some time off," Draco replied after several moments of silence. "And then?"

Hermione tensed. She liked having plans. They kept her sane and grounded, but when she thought about their future, she couldn't get a clear image. It was strange, scary, and … a bit exciting. Draco moved his hands and she stood, still pensive. After pushing the chair back into the desk, Hermione picked up the letter and uttered something she never thought she would say:

"I'll … I'm not sure. I could always get another job. I always entertained the thought of running the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I have a lot of good ideas about, well, everything. But I supposed I'll just have to figure it out when I get to that point."

The floor creaked as he moved. She figured that he was going away, probably to the bathroom, but she was wrong. Heat emanated from the body pressed against her. And for what felt like forever, Draco stood behind her silently, holding her lightly and looking at the letter in her hands.

* * *

Hermione was welcomed home to a ball purple light speeding towards her. She didn't even have time to reach for her wand before she was forced to drop to her knees. The hex missed her by a breath. She could _hear_ it whizzing by her ear before it hit the wall with a loud crackle. Wand drawn, Hermione jumped back to her feet, disoriented but ready to fight.

But there was no one there.

"What in the—"

Ginny popped up from behind the sofa, wand drawn. Well, that was until she saw her standing there. Then, the redhead threw up her arms and yelled, "Hermione!"

She stared at her as if she'd gone completely bonkers. "What in the _hell_ is going on! Why in the _hell_ did you try to hex me!"

"I thought you were a reporter!"

"Why would I be a reporter?!"

"Because," she huffed, "they've been calling and trying to get in to get comments and information about the biggest news story all year."

"What in—" and it dawned on Hermione. "The divorce." She furrowed her brows, "That fast?"

"_Apparently_," Ginny grumbled as she pocketed her wand. "You could've warned someone, though. I spilled my Coco Rocks when the first reporter came through." Ginny spared a mournful glance at the overturned bowl on the couch. "And that was the last of the box, too," she grumbled bitterly.

"I'll buy you more."

"You'd better."

Hermione shook her head and, without paying attention, took a step out of the Floo. Ginny yelled her name at the exact moment she stumbled over what turned out to be a stack of letters … and howlers, which sent them scattering in different directions. Ginny came from around the sofa and offered her a hand, which she took. However, she nearly stumbled again when she saw the state of their flat.

What. In. The. _World_.

It was a nightmare, but the culprit wasn't Ginny … there were letters everywhere! Hundreds—maybe thousands—of them. Ginny had taken to stacking the letters neatly in several tall piles against the wall next to the Floo; piles that were almost as tall as Hermione. And there were the piles that she'd knocked over after stepping out of the fireplace and—what was that noise? Her head whipped towards the kitchen where she saw about seventeen owls lounging, eating treats off their table.

"Seriously?!" Hermione looked at Ginny with wide eyes, "On the table?!"

"Well, where else? Some of them were very tired. Long trip, you know." One owl picked that moment to land on her shoulder. "This one is from Portugal. Had a nice little letter thanking you and Draco for doing your part in destroying the sanctity of marriage."

"How very nice," Hermione deadpanned.

"I know right, but never mind that. How _she_ got here so soon, I have no clue." The owl hooted and flew into the kitchen. Ginny leaned closer and whispered, "Bad news though. I'm all out of owl treats. Been too busy burning Howlers to go to buy more."

Hermione blinked. "Burning Howlers?"

"Oh yes, loads of them. The exploding Howlers were what woke me up in the first place."

She felt bad. "I'm sorry all this—I thought we would've had at least a day before the news broke. I was, clearly, very wrong about that."

Ginny shrugged. "I was okay with that until the stupid reporters tried to break in through the Floo after they were unsuccessful at getting me to come to the door." She had the fiercest look on her face when she said, "I wasn't having any of that." Then, Ginny paused, "It felt good though. I haven't had to use that hex in _ages_." The grin the spread across her face was positively malicious. "I let the first reporter run around for a little bit before I reversed the spell. It was all good fun for me, so don't worry. Besides, the letter flow has slowed. We should probably take the opportunity to get rid of all these letters. I started to, but I got distracted."

"Have you opened any of them?"

"A few. I'm not sure what people are more riled about: the divorce, the fact that you were actually married to Draco Malfoy, or the fact that you dated—"

"Date," she corrected.

Ginny looked confused. "What?"

"I _date_ Draco Malfoy."

"But—" she sputtered. "You got divorced! It's all over the papers!" The witch grabbed Hermione by the arm and dragged her to the window, and together they peeked out. In front of the building were at least fifty reporters, waiting. Luckily, they hadn't seen them in the window. "They're out there waiting to get a glimpse of the 'heartbroken Hermione Granger'! How—in the world did you manage to swallow your pride?"

Hermione gave her a little push, started a fire, and recounted the entire story while they cleaned. For every handful of letters they threw into the fire, Hermione read one. Most said she was better off without him or showed disappointment in them both for giving up. Some showed their outrage and disgust, but a few were actually marriage proposals. Hermione snorted at those. By the time she finished recounting last night's events, the fireplace was full of burning letter and their flat looked fairly normal, save for the overturned bowl of Coco Rocks and the owls in their kitchen. The first was easy to clean, but the second….

"Wait, so you're saying that you guys are divorced, but still together?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Wow!" Ginny stared at her in amazement. "I'm still shocked that you two managed to work it out."

"Not entirely," Hermione smiled softly, "but it's a start."

"What are you two going to do with the house?"

"Sell it. Harry told Draco that he could stay at Grimmauld Place until he finds a flat to live in."

"Oh," Ginny frowned, "I'd just gotten used to you staying here again."

"What? Oh! No. We decided that we had to go back to how we were when we first started dating … only different, more public. So, I'm still going to stay here, if you'll have me, of course."

"Of course! I—" something caught her attention. "Oh hell no!" Hermione watched as Ginny stormed into the kitchen, discovered that one of the owls had pooped on the floor, and cursed quite vehemently as she threw open the glass door. "Out! All of you! Oh, no you don't, owl! Get the hell out! No treats for any of you little buggers!"

Rather than stay and watch the amusing sight of the one-socked Ginny Weasley hopping up and down in an attempt to get the owls out of their flat, Hermione chuckled under her breath and went to her room.

She was in need of a shower.

* * *

With the envelope in hand, Hermione stood only feet in front of the lift and stared down the bland hallway at the black door. She sighed. This was avoidable. Really. And Hermione seriously believed herself to be a glutton for punishment. She could've sent the envelope via owl, but the chances of her owls being intercepted had risen dramatically in the last twenty-four hours. And she didn't want anything getting in the way of her boss getting the letter. Besides, this was something that needed to be done face-to-face.

And yet she hadn't taken another step forward in several minutes. Yes, she was delaying the inevitable and Hermione didn't care. It wasn't just about handing over her resignation; it was about what she knew was to come. The stares, the whispers, the rumours … there was a lot she could handle, but she hated being the centre of this kind of attention.

So, standing there in the silence seemed like the best thing to do at the moment.

But then the lift dinged and opened. Hermione turned her head and—stared at Blaise curiously.

"Do you ever work?"

He smirked, "Of course, but not today. Why are you here?"

"Getting my priorities in order." At that, he flashed a genuine Blaise smile that made her pensive frown slowly lift. "So, why are you here?"

"Thought you might need some moral support," he replied rather quickly. When Hermione quirked a brow, Blaise decided to go at it from a different angle, "Draco sent me." At that, she scoffed. Draco wasn't so blatantly thoughtful. It wasn't in his nature. "Okay, so maybe he intended to, but never got around to it?"

Hermione folded her arms across her chest and tilted her head to side, staring at him hard. "Blaise."

"All right. Potter sent me. Ginny Floo-called him about the reporters trying to break into your flat and he thought you might need a hand."

"That sounds more like it." She smiled, "Tell him I can handle this." Funny, those words came out more confidently than she felt at that moment, but he didn't need to know that. And then, a thought occurred to her. "There is something that you can actually do for me."

"What?"

"Go buy some owl treats … oh, and some Coco Rocks for Ginny. A reporter made her spill the last bowl this morning. Needless to say, she's in a bit of a sour mood so duck when you enter through the Floo, okay?"

He blinked. "Duck?"

"She's in the habit of hexing people who come through."

Blaise looked amused rather than frightened. "Why not close it?"

"She said something about not negotiating with terrorists, so duck, okay?"

"I can do that."

Blaise pushed the button to go back to the main floor. The lift opened immediately and just before it closed, Hermione said, "Oh, and for the love of Merlin, ask her out already!" She didn't get a chance to see the look on his face, but knew it was absolutely priceless.

And for some reason, that little exchange with Blaise gave her all the encouragement she needed to head towards the black door. As expected, the moment she walked in, everything fell silent and everyone stopped what they were doing to stare. It was much worse when she opened the door to the research room.

Wonderful.

Perhaps she shouldn't have sent Blaise away so soon.

The walk to her boss's office was long and damn near painful, but she made it. His secretary told her that he was just getting out of a meeting with the Minister and that she was more than welcome to wait. Hermione nodded, but just as she was about to turn, the witch asked, "Is it true? Were you _really_ married to Draco Malfoy? And is it true that he cheated on you and you found solace with Harry Potter, threatening to break up his own marriage and tear apart his family?"

Hermione's eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. "Where did you hear _that_ rubbish from?"

"Rita Skeeter, of course. I just love the way she writes."

She grimaced. What was her obsession with matching her and Harry?! Hermione rolled her eyes and mumbled, "Should've left her in the jar."

"What was that?" the eager witch asked.

"Nothing … only that you really give credence to everything you read."

"So you weren't married to Draco Malfoy?"

"I was, but the rest of that is completely untrue."

Before the witch could ask anything else, the office door opened and out walked her partner—or, rather, her soon-to-be ex-partner. She thought about saying something to him, but he gave her a disappointed frown and walked past her. Hermione figured that one day he would get _his_ priorities together.

Her boss stuck his head out of his office and invited her in.

She took a deep breath and followed him in.

The door automatically shut with a gentle click behind her.

"Take a seat. Would you like any—"

"No, I—" Hermione extended the envelope out to him and cursed her hand for shaking.

He looked at her curiously and then his face fell. "Don't tell me you're resigning."

"Well," she cleared her throat. "I thought it would only be best if I did, seeing … well, the news and—"

"Bugger the news. I lost one of my best researchers, I won't lose another, so no, I won't accept your resignation."

Hermione was stunned. Her voice was shaky yet strong when she said, "With all due respect, as important as our work is here and as much as I enjoy my work; I cannot do this any longer. I can't do the long, erratic hours. I—" she sat the letter on his clean desk. "I've ignored all my other priorities and I'm resigning to get them back in order. I just can't do that anymore. I'm sorry, but if you don't accept my resignation, I'll be forced to go over your head and I don't want to—"

"I think you misunderstand me," Hoggleton interrupted calmly. "I don't want to accept your resignation because I want to offer you a new position."

* * *

Hermione didn't return home. She left the Ministry out of her boss's private Floo and went to a nearby Muggle ice-cream parlour and enjoyed a scoop of vanilla ice-cream. She figured it was better than smoking—what she'd been tempted to do as soon as she'd Floo'd out—and it was loud there. She used the raucous laughter of children, their conversing parents, and the hum of the coolers to try and quiet the voices in her own head.

Too bad it didn't work.

Her boss's offer played over and over in her head—to the point where it made her restless and antsy. She quickly finished her ice-cream and found herself outside, digging into her pockets for a fag. But then Hermione remembered that she'd thrown them all away that morning. Dammit. Where was that Muggle nicotine gum Ginny had shoved into her hand before she left? She sat on a bench and dug in her beaded bag until she found it.

It took about twelve chews for Hermione to realise that quitting cigarettes was going to be a harder task than she'd originally anticipated. It took several more minutes and the disappearance of the slight tremor in her hand for her to admit that perhaps she did have a problem.

She frowned.

It seemed that she suddenly had more problems than solutions, now.

Hermione had been fully prepared to resign from her position and now … what in the hell was she supposed to do? Better yet, what was she supposed to say to Draco? Hermione walked past three Apparition points before she decided that the best thing to do was to do everything she'd never done while they had been married.

Meaning, go home and talk to him.

So, she walked to the next Apparition point and after a familiar tug, she appeared in the centre of her sitting room—her empty living room. Everything was as she left it. Letters were burning in the fire, a few owls were lounging on the coffee table, and—a soft chuckle broke in the silence. Hermione looked to her left where a red-faced Ginny and Blaise were sitting at the table sharing a bowl of—no doubt—Coco Rocks.

Odd.

Ginny looked up and asked, "How did it go?"

"Umm … long story. Is Draco here?"

"In your room," Blaise replied, looking a little concerned. "With all the press everywhere, his boss sent him home for the day. And he came here after realising that there were reporters camped out in your front yard. Are you sure—"

"Yes, everything's fine. I just need to talk to him about something." Well, that certainly was different, Hermione thought as she walked back to her bedroom.

Draco was sitting on her bed, reading the Daily Prophet, and shaking his head. She couldn't think of the last time she'd seen him in Muggle clothes, but shrugged off all suspicion.

"Ridiculous, isn't it?"

He looked up, a little surprised, but then he smirked. "This entire day has been ridiculous. Have you seen all the reporters outside?"

"Yes," she shut the door behind her. "I hear they're at our house, too."

Draco gave a shrug as if they didn't matter and asked, "How did it go with your boss?"

"Right," she smoothed down her hair as best as she could. "We need to talk."

"Okay."

"I gave him my letter and he told me that he wasn't going to accept my resignation. He said that he'd lost one excellent researcher," at that, Draco failed miserably at not looking pompous, "and he said he didn't want to lose another. I told him that I would have to go over his head, and he offered me another position. Undersecretary … of the entire department."

Draco's eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"Yeah, I know. Not to mention, he said that I'm allowed to use as much of my paid vacation time as I need, which is about four month's worth. And the promotion means I get to handle more of the administrative tasks and my days of working the erratic schedule of a researcher are over. And I still get to oversee research experiments, especially my pet project to possibly extract information from the encephalons. He also said that I can form my own team to carry out the research on my project."

He remained pensive for a few minutes before he said, "So what did you say?"

"Nothing. He gave me the day to think it over. I—" she looked down, "thought I should discuss it with you first. You know, in the spirit of new beginnings, and all."

Draco stood up and folded the paper, but said nothing for a long time. And his silence worried her. When Draco dropped the newspaper on the bed, she crossed the room and stood in front of him. Hermione thought about saying more, but was unsure of what she could say to ease the tension. They weren't ready for the potential setback that her promotion could cause; not when things were still so delicate between them. She scolded herself for not thinking about that before she broached the topic.

With unease at the forefront of her mind, Hermione unconsciously leaned against him and sighed. But when he wrapped his arms around her waist, all doubt and self-restraint disappeared into nothing. Far from protesting, Hermione tightened her arms around his neck and closed her eyes, exhaling.

Then, he suddenly said, "I think you should accept the position. It's a good fit, I think."

She pulled back a bit, smiling and mentally planning out the letter to her boss. Of course, before she could take one step towards her desk, Draco pulled her back.

"Hold on the letter-planning until after lunch."

She made a face. "How did you—wait a second, lunch?"

"I was thinking that we should go to lunch at that shoddy little restaurant down the street that you love so much." Before she could extract her wand, he said, "We should walk."

Hermione's eyes narrowed in confusion. "Walk? Have you seen what's out there? We should definitely Apparate. They're very wizard-friendly and—"

Draco silenced her with a kiss.

* * *

It was strange how life had managed to completely bring her to her knees.

One week, Hermione was oblivious about her own faults and angry at Draco for all of his. And the next, clarity tackled her from behind and everything had changed. One moment, it had been about him, and the next, it became all about her. But, of course, that was life, right? April had been a hectic month full of rollercoaster emotions and — not to mention — intense and painful self-discoveries. And yet, even in the near silence of the little foyer, Hermione felt lost and out-of-control.

It was strange.

There had been moments while writing the resignation letter that she'd felt the urge to seek out the person she had been, even though that person was no more. She just felt as though, in the last few weeks, she'd been stripped of everything; not just the clothing she wore but the skin beneath it. And it felt odd; like she'd been fitted with new skin and clothes … and Hermione was left with the strongest urge to scratch because it just didn't feel right.

And that made her realise that, while she'd come so far, her journey had only just begun.

There were still unspoken thoughts and feelings between her and Draco. There were still things she needed to sort out within herself. There were things she still needed to think about. And there was still a life she needed to start living. Looking back on the last month, Hermione knew that she'd already learned a lot. Amongst the tears she'd cried and the pain she'd felt, there was so much good she'd experienced, too.

She was sure of it.

Though, the good had been hard to see through the haze of lingering guilt.

"Are you ready?" Draco asked.

Well, that was certainly a loaded question. _Was_ she ready to go out there and face the media? Was she ready to start over? Was she ready to do things right this time? But more importantly, was she ready to forgive herself?

Tough questions, indeed. She'd done so much that was—

"Hermione?" When Draco squeezed her hand, she looked over at him and really began to understand something else.

It was going to take a long time, but she needed to let go … of everything. She needed to move forward because it was senseless to look back. She needed to stop thinking and obsessing over her mistakes because it was clear that she'd already been forgiven by the one person she had wronged—the one person who mattered.

Forgive herself? Move on? Look to the future? Could she really do all that? And just before Draco opened the front door and the flashbulbs erupted, Hermione squeezed his hand and answered all of those questions with a nervous yet confident:

"Yes."

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of JK Rowling. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: This is the end. Seven chapters, seven days in April, get it?As for the characterizations, I felt I had to make Draco more rational and patient because he was the first one to sorta step out of the workaholic mode and realizing what was more important to him. That's when the fighting started because Hermione couldn't understand the sudden interest in them being all public because he'd never expressed it before. Needless to say, Hermione was the straggler in all this. So if Draco seems to be OOC, there is a reason for it. And a pretty good one when you think about their age and the situation they're in. They're older...and more mature...he's not the same Draco that was at Hogwarts. Far from it. People do change.
> 
> But anyway, I wanted to end with them opening a door...ya know, symbolism and all that good stuff. And I wanted it to not be perfect with them at the end, for things to be a little shaky and unstable and unsure, but I also wanted there to be hope that they will work things through in time. And I really wanted Hermione to recognize the guilt she's been feeling and start to deal with it because her guilt really could mess up things in the future. Guilt is a very powerful emotion and I knew she needed to shed all of it and let go. And oh, I thought this end showed how much she's grown and changed since April 2nd (aka the beginning)...and it shows how she's willing to fight...and how she and Draco start to compromise. Because there was none of that before.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of JK Rowling. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Note: Everyone writes about Draco and Hermione getting together, but I wanted to write a story about them hitting a snag…and I wanted Hermione to be guilty party. Nice little role reversal, as Draco is usually the guilty party. Oh, and I didn't want this to be a cheating fic, which, again, would be so easy. I believe that marriages can go through problems without the adultery element. 
> 
> As for Hermione's characterization, I brought out her worst canon characteristics for this fic and I used her stubbornness as a vice, rather than a strength. But its really about her stepping outside of herself and realizing her imperfections...and realizing she didn't have to be so strong. I wanted this to be as realistic as possible and I really struggled to make this perfect. As with most of my stories, I present the truth out of order. It may be confusing, but just stick with it. All of it is explained.
> 
> I would like to thank my beta, kazfeist. I would also like to thank everyone who really kept me going when I wanted to give up. The list is long. Oh, all the chapters are divided by days...and there are seven of them. LOL. Hence the title. Oh, and this story will be updated quite regularly, cause it's already completed.
> 
> Lastly, I was inspired by a lot of music while writing each chapter of this story, so I'll list them:
> 
> 1\. Two Solitudes - Level 42  
2\. Running Away - Hoobastank  
3\. I'm So Tired - Eskimo Joe


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